


Of Arson

by DreamChaos



Category: Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamChaos/pseuds/DreamChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bliss didn't last long. Years after their return from the island, Violet is thrown into misery once more. After starting her own fires, a certain not-so-dead villain reappears in her life and his plans are just as wicked as before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Late in the day, among her own sobs and half-empty bottles, Violet could still hear the screaming.

It seemed to be the only thing in which she found peace.

Her surroundings were dark and dismal, a constant reminder of a time seven or so years before when she and her siblings were swept away to their first guardian. Count Olaf's home had been filthy and vile, two words which could also be used for her own apartment currently. But, instead of half-written plays, there were half-written letters to Klaus. Instead of notes on nefarious schemes, there were notes on the now-withered leaves which lay atop her desk. Instead of the paintings of blue eyes, of brown eyes, and of black eyes, there were pictures of her siblings, of little Beatrice, and of Quigley. The wine bottles, the filth, the matchboxes – those were all the same.

Violet shuddered at the thought of sharing any similarity with that horrendous man and pushed the idea from her mind.

No, the things she'd done were noble. Count Olaf had not been. That's at least what she told herself.

Laying there on that rickety bed, Violet realized with much dismay that Klaus and Sunny would hardly recognize her should they pass in the street. It had been nearly a year since they'd parted and so much had changed since she'd seen them.

And what would Quigley think? Violet's eyes darted to his picture on the desk, that familiar stab plucking at her heart. In the picture next to his, little Beatrice stared with blaming eyes.

The three of them had been happy. Now she was alone and miserable.

It was quite a surprise when, after navigating off that wretched island and landing back at Briny Beach, they were found by Quigley soon after. The Baudelaire children had assumed him dead, but found great relief in the fact that he was not.

Despite how the three siblings hated the place, after returning to the city they sought out Count Olaf's home. They knew he was dead and would never harm them again, but they didn't trust Mr. Poe to find them safe or comfortable accommodations. For two years, the five orphans lived in secret. Violet remembered it as a dreadful time, being stuck inside a house with so many foul memories. The children made it as habitable as possible, which was not habitable at all, or safe, but they made due. Unable to stomach the small bedroom they'd all shared as Count Olaf's wards, they pulled the single mattress down to the living room. The ex-guardian's bed was out of the question and the thought of sleeping where he had gave each of the children a sick feeling when they thought of it. For the two years they lived there, not one of them entered the tower or his room. Instead, Violet slept on the mattress with the two youngest children while Klaus and Quigley slept on the couches surrounding the girls. There were times when Violet, awake in the late hours while the others slept, would feel a wave of paranoia creep over her, as if she were being watched. Several times over those two years, she found herself glancing to the window which overlooked the living room and swearing, despite knowing it was her imagination, there had just been some figure there.

Violet kept these feelings to herself, not wanting to scare the others for no reason. The five went on living in the house, scavenging dusty candles from the basement and thread from the kitchen drawers to adjust their clothing as they grew. For the first two months, the children barely disguised their hunger with rusted cans of peaches and the abundant raspberries growing wild in the back yard. One night, though, Quigley turned abruptly on the couch to get into a more comfortable position and they all heard the distinct noise of coins clanking together. There wasn't much in the small change purse wedged under the couch cushions, but enough to buy a few fresh vegetables. From the vegetables, the children used the seeds to grow more. The time waiting for their small crops to grow seemed unbearable, but once they had them going they were plentiful.

The most unbearable, though, was not being able to let Sunny and little Beatrice out to play. Children, as you know, are the sort to make a lot of noise and attract attention, which is not what the older three children wanted. The two young girls always looked quite glum, begging Violet to let them go outside with her after night had fallen to pick enough crops for the following day. The eldest girl never allowed them. Not only for fear of them being loud and leading to the discovery of the children, but because there were often times outside in the backyard when Violet felt that same wave of paranoia flood her, as if someone was watching her from somewhere hidden. In the dark, though, it was difficult to see at any great distance and so her head would turn in a slow movement, scanning the overgrown brush nearby. Even when she found no one hiding, she would still hurry to gather the vegetables and get back inside the crumbling house. It was odd that a house with so many stained memories would prove a safe place for the children.

During the time in Count Olaf's house, Quigley told them a great deal about his life and family. It was in these post-dinner discussions that they learned his siblings, Duncan and Isadora, had perished in the Great Unknown, while Quigley narrowly escaped. It was also during those two years that a great love flourished between Violet and Quigley, ignited by their previous kiss a few years before. There were many late nights - well after Klaus, Sunny, and Beatrice were deep in sleep – when the two would slip outside to Count Olaf's makeshift stage to memorize not the lines of a play, but the lines of each other's bodies. On some of these nights Violet felt the same sneaking suspicion that they were being spied upon, but never voiced these opinions and instead let Quigley kiss away her fears until they were so small and insignificant it was as if they didn't exist.

Once Violet was of age, Quigley held her hand as they went to meet with Mr. Poe, his warm fingers calming her jittering nerves. The banker had coughed and sputtered for nearly five minutes after seeing her, thinking she'd perished. After he seemed to grasp the fact that she was, indeed, still alive, his eyes shot down to Quigley's hand clutching hers, then up to scrutinize his face with a tucked brow. In years since, Violet wondered warmly if Mr. Poe was making sure Quigley wasn't Count Olaf in disguise. Despite his clueless nature in previous years and his disbelief that Count Olaf was dead – due to his name being mistaken for Omar in the report – she thought he might have finally realized how far Count Olaf would have gone to secure their fortune. But the moment passed without incident and the children were then, a few days later at a court hearing, placed under Violet's guardianship.

The first thing she did after securing the fortune was create three separate bank accounts for her and her siblings. Violet still remembered the half-smile Quigley had given her when she added his name and Beatrice's to her own account. When she'd bent to sign her name, some of her hair fell into her face and Quigley swiped it behind her ear, then leaned in to press his lips where the hair had tickled her cheek.

As a surprise for Klaus, who had mentioned more than once his desire to see the Reptile Room filled again, Violet bought Uncle Monty's home, which still hadn't sold after his murder. One bad memory was not enough to overpower the joy and comfort the three had felt while living there. For two more years, the five lived happily together, studying snakes and reptiles while adding to the collection. The orphans worked closely, forming a strong team of sort-of herpetologists. Klaus would read from the many books they had collected, finding snakes and animals they wished to add to their room. Quigley, always the cartographer, would take the information given by Klaus and create color-coded maps of areas that matched the specific habitats of the animals sought. Beatrice, although only a little thing, had a great talent in drawing and, as the books were often printed only in black ink, would recreate the images of the snakes in full color. Violet, as she had before when they were preparing for their doomed trip to Peru, invented the snake traps and modified the cages to make the animals more comfortable. Sunny, of course, was flourishing as a chef and was not only in charge of the animal diets, but the human meals as well. On three separate occasions, they took overseas expeditions and brought back a marvelous variety of animals. By the time those two years ended, the Reptile Room was filled once again.

The happiness of the five was the most joyous they'd felt since before all their misfortune started. Uncle Monty's home was a safe haven, a sanctuary, where they pieced together the bits of their broken hearts and formed a family. Nothing of incidence happened during those two years, except perhaps one evening near the end, after Violet's twentieth birthday. Sunny had made Uncle Monty's coconut cream cake, now considered a delicacy between the orphans. After the five had eaten their cake and the other four had sung to Violet, the presents were given and everyone went off to bed. Klaus and Sunny had taken the same upstairs rooms they used before when staying with Uncle Monty. Beatrice was in Violet's old room, upstairs next to Sunny's. Violet and Quigley, wanting privacy after two years of sneaking outside, had chosen Uncle Monty's old room downstairs. For hours, the two lay awake, talking about anything that popped into their heads, but most of all talking about how quickly their moving day was coming. Now that Klaus was of age, the two bought the neighboring home, though it was quite a walk between the two, and they were getting excited about finally having their own house. Between their hushed whispers and the occasional peck of their lips, the two heard a strange noise from outside. For the first time since they'd moved from Count Olaf's, Violet felt that chill of paranoia creep up her spine. Quigley assured her it was nothing, but, being the gentleman that he was, stood and left to go check that they'd locked the doors. Violet was sitting upright, fear etched into her features, when she saw movement outside the window from the corner of her eye. With a stomach of dread, she turned and saw nothing – no shadow as she'd thought – only a small patch of fog, as if someone had breathed against the glass, which she watched fade away before Quigley returned to bed.

A few weeks after they'd moved, under the guise of a housewarming party, Quigley presented Violet with the most breathtaking ring. Violet, who hated crying in front of other people, ducked her head and cried joyous tears into her intended's chest while the guests smiled and cooed at the couple. Violet still wore the ring on a cord around her neck. Though the marriage would never come to be, she refused to insult Quigley's memory by hiding the ring. It was just that Violet found it quite hard to look at anymore on her finger, so she wore it around her neck where it was always with her, but out of sight.

Things were warm and fuzzy in those first few months. Beatrice would fall asleep on Quigley's chest after dinner and the two would tuck her in every night, telling her how much they loved her. Sunny would come over every morning to start fixing lunch, for which Klaus would later join. Sometimes they stayed through dinner. Every Sunday afternoon they went to a matinee showing at the cinema and out for root beer floats afterward. It seemed, at last, Violet's life was at ease.

It wasn't until one sunny day, while Violet took the car to the market, did that bliss end.

Thinking of it currently, from the creaky bed in her filthy apartment, made Violet's heart ache. But, no matter how hard she pressed her hands to her chest, nothing ever quelled the hurt she felt inside. Or brought the two back to her. Every night she relived those moments of despair and, every night, could do nothing to go back and change them. It haunted her more than the death of Uncle Monty, or Aunt Josephine, or even her parents. Before the fire which stole her parents away, she had never known misfortune. The concept was entirely new. Though losing one's parents, especially as a child, is always cruel and heartbreaking, Violet found it was much more cruel and heartbreaking to have lived in misery, then absolute bliss, only to be dipped into misery once more.

When she left the market, paper bags filling her arms, she could smell the smoke. There were a few older ladies huddled near a black car, looking off into the distance to Violet's left. Before she even turned to look, dread and knowing filled her. Violet lived in that direction. And when she turned she could see, far in the distance, a thick trail of black smoke interrupting the otherwise clear sky.

Violet couldn't even remember what she'd been thinking as she drove, panicked, toward the two homes. Which was it? Both? Though she couldn't properly recall, she seemed to remember a numb feeling. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not when she passed Uncle Monty's home, still standing unharmed, and continued to the flames of her own.

By sheer stroke of luck, Sunny had forgotten an important ingredient at Uncle Monty's house and gone to fetch it. That was the single thing of the entire ordeal that Violet was thankful for. Everything else was lost. Her beautiful home, her inventions, her happiness. Quigley's maps and Beatrice's drawings. Quigley and Beatrice.

The funerals were a blur. Everything for the next few weeks was a blur. Violet didn't want to talk to anyone. She wouldn't eat, no matter how much coconut cream cake Sunny baked. She wouldn't invent. She didn't go to the movies on Sunday afternoons for matinees and then out for root beer floats afterward. All Violet wanted to do was sleep.

All three Baudelaire orphans felt the pain of losing Quigley and Beatrice, though none as hard as Violet. When their pain had ebbed in the following weeks, hers did not. It seemed the most foreign concept of all that Klaus could sit and read or Sunny cook, as if the most disastrous thing imaginable hadn't just recently passed.

Klaus told her time and time again that it was highly improbable the fire was started on purpose. Maybe it was because of the misfortune they'd lived through and finally having peace, but he didn't want to hear any more about it. The last time she saw Klaus, she'd screamed at him for being no different than Mr. Poe.

Violet winced at the memory – it was not her best moment. But, in those weeks following the fire which took her soon-to-be-husband and adoptive daughter, Violet was not at her best self. Nor had she been since she'd left in the dead of night with not so much as a note.

When she sat up on the bed, the weak springs gave a loud groan. The guilt in not leaving a note for Sunny and Klaus brought her attention to the half-finished letters that covered the desk, spilling onto the floor. Every night Violet told herself that she would clean the following day, but never actually got around to it. Bottles clanged and rolled as she stood. It was a noise from her childhood – a noise of Count Olaf's – that made her cringe. It wasn't as though she remained in a constant state of drunkenness, only that a glass here and there helped calm her nerves. The reason there were so many bottles was more due to her recent untidiness than a newfound love of wine.

Violet stumbled, as one often does after spending an entire day in bed, over to the desk. Most of the letters were scribbled out, the others bunched up into balls. Klaus and Sunny smiled up at her from a picture taken in Kenya. Quigley looked as warm as ever in his picture, those brilliant brown eyes wide in shock, a small python tangled in his curly black hair. It was Beatrice's photo that always bothered her. Violet's adopted daughter had always been a serious child and was never one for laughter or smiling. The vacant expression in the snapshot, taken on her third birthday, seemed grim to Violet now.

The matchboxes, the leaves, the mysterious note – they were all on the desk, as well. Violet ached to pull her hair up and put the pieces of this puzzle together, but she'd lost her ribbon a few weeks prior when she'd burned the third house down.

The matchbox stared at her. Such a simple thing to cause so much pain and destruction. It was the easiest thing in the world. There was no need for some complex invention to ignite an entire home. All she'd had to do was light a match with the swish of her hand, then let it fall where it would catch.

Someone had lit her home on fire. No matter what Klaus tried to argue, Violet knew it was done on purpose, with the intent to kill. But, whether she was meant to be in the house or not was a question she didn't have the answer to. And what of Sunny and Klaus? What if Uncle Monty's home was in danger, too?

Violet thought of her promise to her parents – that she would always protect her siblings. But, to say her actions were only an act of protection would be a lie. Violet wanted revenge for the happy life that had been taken from her.

After she left, taking only the clothes she wore, the photos, and her ribbon, Violet secured a small studio apartment in the next town over, under the name Delia Boule-Tavier.

Then her real work began.

Violet suspected, in her heart of hearts, that this all came back to Count Olaf. Of course, he was dead, but his accomplices were every bit as deadly as he and, quite likely, looking for revenge of their own. It took her four months to find the whereabouts of one of his theatre troupe and burn the house to the ground. Violet, sick with what she'd done, didn't stay long enough to see if anyone escaped.

The second actor's house came about more quickly than the first. It also went up in flames more quickly. Mesmerized by the destruction she and one small wooden stick could cause, she was nearly caught. The fire sirens were near when she came to her right mind and fled the scene. The next day, she read in the paper that Olaf's ex-henchman had perished, as well as his brother.

There was a long gap between the second and third fires, the latter happening only a few weeks ago. That time Violet stayed and watched from the roof of the building nearby. The screaming, the wailing, she could still hear it if she tried. Though the moon was only just rising when she set the fire, the sun was nearing by the time she left. The flames and smoke, as they often do when in the middle of a bustling city, attracted a great crowd. Violet was aware of the large crowd, but never tore her eyes from the flames ripping the home apart. Had she been more aware, she might have realized her ribbon was quite loose. Had she realized her ribbon was loose, a gust of wind might not have carried it away, down to the frantic street. Had she realized the wind stole her ribbon, she might have decided to keep an eye on it until the crowd dispersed, so she could reclaim it. Had she done that, she might have seen, an hour or so later, a tall, thin man with long, slender fingers bend to claim her ribbon. Had she seen the man take her ribbon, she might have seen him scan the area from left to right. She might have seen how he looked up. She might have seen how he saw _her._

But, Violet didn't. All she saw were the flames until she knew it was time to go home.

Home, however, was where things became more interesting. A mystery was placed on her rumpled bed with care. There was a brown paper bag, crisp, just waiting on her as if it were a neighbor come to chat. Violet's eyes darted to the half-open window and the thin curtains blowing in the breeze. There was a feeling of violation, along with a deep shame that someone had seen how untidy she'd grown. After she was certain there was no one in her tiny apartment, Violet closed and locked the window, then opened the bag.

Things became even more mysterious. Inside the bag where several purple leaves with four sharp points and a thick smell of salt. No matter how many times she racked her brain, Violet knew she'd seen these before, yet couldn't place them. Among the leaves was a hand-scrawled note, which simply read: _arsonist._

Someone knew it was her. The more Violet thought on it, the more she suspected it was one of Olaf's cronies. In the weeks that followed, she researched botany, hoping to get a match on the strange leaves, but failing. If she could identify the leaves, she could potentially identify the person. There were plenty of matches in the world to quiet them.

Oddly, Violet felt safe in her apartment, despite the fact that someone had broken in. Since then, she'd installed bars on the inside of her window and three additional locks for her door. Each day, she visited the library for more books on botany, feeling she was in a race against time, with her life and the life of this other as the stakes.

Violet pulled herself from the desk to change her dress and slip on her shoes. Before long, the library would be closing and she'd finished fingering through the books from yesterday. Books tucked under her arm, she left the apartment and took the elevator down from the fourth floor where she lived. Outside, the sun was beginning to grow tired, casting red splotches across the buildings under it. Violet lived only two blocks from the library, so her visit was relatively short and she was back on her way home. Reading while she walked, which her parents had always insisted was rude, was a habit she'd gained from Klaus. Between her apartment and the library, there were several stalls which sold food and so, in between the stalls she would read and walk, putting her book down at each one to see if there was something she would like to eat. At the fifth stall, she chose a roast beef sandwich with horseradish, then tucked the paper bag under her arm and continued on her way, nose tipped into the book.

At the door of her apartment building, she froze, eyes wide. Violet had just turned the page and there it was – a full color drawing of the purple leaf, down to the four sharp points. After the initial shock of finding it, Violet stepped inside and began reading as she waited for the elevator, not the slightest clue who she'd just been within arm's reach of as he watched her expression of concentration.

The scientific name, as most scientific names are, was quite difficult to read, but the book insisted that it was commonly called Devil's Prayer. Engrossed, she learned it only grew in sand, had a strong smell of salt, and that eating the purple leaves would render a person in a near-death state, with such shallow breathing that one could be declared dead. The heart rate would become nearly undetectable and the person could remain in that state for several days.

Violet didn't understand the relevance. Not until about thirty seconds later, when she was on the elevator, awaiting the doors to close. For some odd reason, the doors weren't closing on their own and so she reached to push the button which forces them shut.

None of that made the plant any more relevant, of course. It was that as they were closing, Violet happened to look up and through the elevator doors, which faced the glass entrance doors to the apartment building. A man happened to be passing those glass doors and met her glance with a smirk and two shiny eyes that she knew very well. Then the elevator doors were shut and she was rising toward the fourth floor, just as the panic was rising in her.


	2. Chapter 2

Shock was not a word that did the feeling inside Violet justice. Disgust, dismay, and despair were closer, but not entirely words that fit either. Nor were terrified or paranoid or hysterical. Somehow, Violet was all seven of these things.

A small shriek fled her throat when she slammed her door behind her, securing not only the original lock, but the additional three she'd installed. With the flurry of a woman half in hysterics, Violet flew over to the window and pulled shut the flimsy curtains. Deciding that wasn't enough, she pulled the itchy blanket from her small bed and had it nailed over the window in no time flat.

Despite not having spoken to either of her siblings in nearly a year, or that Sunny and Klaus had no idea where she even was, Violet snatched up the receiver to her phone in the blink of an eye. For a moment she stalled, then recalled the number and punched it into the thick buttons as quick as her fingers could manage, clutching the receiver to her ear and awaiting the ring. The line was silent. The silence stretched on and on until Violet hung up the phone, then immediately picked it back up and tried the number again, hoping she'd missed a number the first time. Again, only silence. Perhaps Sunny and Klaus had forgotten to pay the phone bill or maybe even changed the number. Or, she hoped most of all, they'd had the phones temporarily turned off while they were on an expedition overseas and very far away from any harmful ex-guardians.

Biting her lip, Violet hung up the phone, then returned the receiver to her ear a third time, punching in the number for the local police. It was in the silence which followed that Violet realized it was not the phone at Uncle Monty's that wasn't connecting – it was hers.

The acidic taste of bile was creeping up her throat, but she swallowed it away and laid the receiver down with shaking hands. Violet couldn't think properly without her ribbon, but held her hair up at the nape of her neck in an attempt to think straight. No matter what escape plans she could come up with, they were all spoiled by the fact that she'd trapped herself on the fourth floor and was now, as the saying went, a sitting duck.

Violet nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang, one shrill tone that sunk into her bones. Dread filled the moment as she looked down to the phone during the silence, then she jumped again as it rang a second time. Timidly, she picked up the receiver and placed it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked, trying to sound far braver than she was feeling.

"Delia, dear," crooned the voice of her elderly next-door neighbor, Mrs. Yokly. "I can't seem to dial out. I was trying to ring my sister, but it's just silence every time I try her number. Can you come have a look at my phone?"

Relief flooded Violet. "I'm having trouble as well, Mrs. Yokly. But, if this call went through, it must mean the internal tie-line is still up. There must be a problem with the external line."

Mrs. Yokly sighed in the dramatic fashion that she tended to do. There had been several times when Mrs. Yokly had invited Violet for supper, only to have her fix a myriad of things gone wrong in her apartment. Violet knew this sigh of irritation well. "This place has gone to the dogs," she said, another common utterance of hers. "I'm going to try and contact Mr. Hinders. You sit tight, dear, we'll get this figured out."

Before Violet could mutter another word, Mrs. Yokly hung up. She wanted to tell her it was no use contacting Mr. Hinders, the landlord who lived on the first floor. Violet suspected the phone line had been cut and there was nothing Mr. Hinders could do until the following morning, when the phone company was open.

Somehow, though, talking to Mrs. Yokly made her feel a shade safer. Or at least less alone. That is, of course, until a few seconds later, when the sounds of the old building whirred down and Violet's electricity cut out, shrouding her vision with the inkiest of blacks now that the sun had gone down. The silence in the building was a deafening noise all on its own. Somewhere, on some floor below, a phone rang. The walls and floorboards of the apartments were thin. Violet never noticed how thin, though, until she heard the phone below ring a second time. Someone must have answered, as silence flooded afterward. Then a second phone rang, again somewhere below. It rang four times, then went out. A moment later, a third phone rang once before someone apparently answered. Probably Mrs. Yokly got ahold of Mr. Hinders and he was calling each apartment to let them know the external lines were out.

While the phones continued to ring below, from one end of the building to the next in numerical order, Violet dug blindly in the dark for a flashlight or candle. A few times she nearly tripped over the discarded bottles in her floor, sending them clattering across the room. Her phone, however, gave a shrill ring and she felt her way over to the desk, plucking up the receiver. "Hello?" she asked, opening the top drawer and digging inside, hoping to feel some source of light within.

"I've got ahold of him, dear," said Mrs. Yokly. "Says he already called the phone company, but I'm sure you already know."

Violet's brow tucked in the darkness, not quite understanding.

"What do you mean I already know?" she asked.

The woman paused. "Well, after the electricity cut out, I stuck my head into the hall to see if it was just my apartment or the whole building. There was a man at your door with a flashlight. I assumed he was with the phone company."

Ice flooded Violet's veins as her eyes darted in the direction of the door. It was so dark that she couldn't even see it and wondered, with a flare of new fear, if she hadn't noticed the door being open and that vile man stepping inside while the darkness covered him. Was he in there now, listening to her dig around in the dark for a flashlight? Would he reach out and strangle her when she least expected it? Goosebumps erupted over her arms.

"Mrs. Yokly," Violet said in a slow whisper, "Lock your door and don't open it for anyone. I think we may be in danger."

"Dange-," the woman had said, but Violet clicked the receiver down as quiet and gentle as she could, as if the slightest noise would give her away. The methodical calls had reached her floor now, starting at the far end and working their way toward Violet's apartment near the opposite side.

Violet swallowed the thick knot in her throat and took baby steps toward the door, sliding her feet along the floor to avoid the sound of footsteps and prevent sending the bottles rolling. The nearer she got to the door, the more her nerves bundled in her stomach, fearing she would find not a closed door, but an evil villain in that dark corner. When her outstretched fingers brushed the cool wood of the door, she was relieved to find it closed and reminded herself of the multiple new locks she had added. At the right angle, though, she could see a small dot of light filtering in through the peephole. Violet chewed her lip, knowing she needed to look out, but terribly afraid to do so. With careful hands, she balanced herself against the door and brought her eye up to the hole, looking out into the hall. The darkness swallowed the far end of the hall, but the hallway immediately outside of her door was lit, fading out just past Mrs. Yokly's door. The source of the light was out of sight beneath the view of the peephole.

Violet crouched, but shied away from the door should a sharp knife decide to splinter through the wood. In the apartment next to Mrs. Yokly, the phone rang. It was annoying, as Violet was trying to listen. Perhaps Count Olaf was not at her door anymore, but had simply left his flashlight on the floor. Perhaps it wasn't Count Olaf at all, but she really had lost her mind and it was simply a man from the phone company at her door. The phone down the hall rang three times and she heard a man answer through the thin walls, "Hello?" and then say, "Alright."

There didn't seem to be any noise from the other side of the door. Violet leaned her ear close to the wood, straining to hear, but was interrupted when Mrs. Yokly's phone rang.

"Hello?" she heard her say, then pause for a moment. "Yes, yes, _I know,_ Mr. Hinders, I was the one who called _you._ There's a phone company impostor on the loose. It seems like the perfect set-up to me – they cut the phone lines, then send in a guy to prey on us poor renters for high prices. Mr. Hinders? _Mr. Hinders?"_

Mr. Hinders, of course, was no longer on the line with Mrs. Yokly because Mr. Hinders was already ringing into Violet's apartment. Violet froze near the door, listening to the shrill ring of the phone sound four times before falling silent. It was only a moment later that the phone in the apartment on the other side of hers started to ring.

"I already know you're in there," said that voice she knew too well. He was on the other side of the door, about even with her. Violet squeaked at the shock and covered her mouth. "There's no use pretending you're not."

Violet's hands were shaking terribly as she pressed the gasps back into her mouth. Small taps sounded through the door and she realized he was bouncing his fingers along the wood. "I have no problem smoking you out, orphan."

"You wouldn't dare," she said suddenly, anger winning over caution.

In the darkness, Violet could hear him draw a deep breath and she could practically see the grin etched over his features. "Wouldn't I?"

"I would rather die in here than run out into your hands," she declared, mouth snarling up in disgust.

The silence was filled with another phone ringing on her floor and the theatrical snickers of the man on the other side of the door. "We'll see," he declared, then she heard the sound of his footsteps moments later.

Violet's head was spinning. This was impossible, that monster was supposed to be _dead._ It took a moment to process what was happening, but as soon as the weight of his words settled over her, she shot toward the phone. Feeling blindly in the darkness, she nearly ripped it from the wall in her haste. Violet clenched her eyes shut, which was probably pointless in the pitch black that already surrounded her, and thought of a dial pad. In the dark, it would be difficult to dial Mrs. Yokly, but she thought hard on where the numbers would be and dialed 4-2-1, Mrs. Yokly's apartment number. The line rang once and Violet was glad to hear the phone next door ring.

"Hello?" said Mrs. Yokly.

"Mrs. Yokly," Violet said, "This is Delia. Get your things and get out of the building. There's going to be a fire."

"A _fire?"_ she demanded. "On top of the phones and electricity? Well, I've just about had it with this place. It's gone to the dogs!"

" _Mrs. Yokly,"_ Violet urged. "Please, it's urgent, get your things and get out," she said before snapping the phone down and reaching for her own things.

Violet had, of course, been lying when she said she'd rather die in this building than run out into Count Olaf's clutches. In Count Olaf's clutches, for instance, she would still be alive, which was far better than dead. However, how _long_ she would be alive was debatable and Violet, who preferred the hard facts of science, was not a fan of her lifespan being debatable. She would try to exit the building as discreetly as possible, then reunite with Sunny and Klaus so that they may return to their unfortunate lives on the run together.

That is, of course, if they were still alive. The thought made her blood run cold and clutch for the photos on her desk. Feeling in her arms, she counted the three frames, then allowed her hand to find the cord around her neck, sliding down to the ring tied in the middle.

Below, on the first or second floor, Violet heard a woman scream out, _"FIRE!"_ and she knew it had begun. But, in the cruelest twist of fate, Violet took a step toward the door and her foot landed squarely on a wine bottle. She was sent sprawling, the three picture frames flying from her hands and landing with crunches of glass in different areas of the room.

"No," she muttered, feeling blindly along the floor and finding nothing but discarded clothes, bits of paper, and more bottles. "No, no, no," she said, panicking. Violet wouldn't leave the pictures. It was the only picture she had of Quigley at all, the rest being destroyed in the fire. Klaus luckily had an album of their snake hunting, which held the only picture of Quigley in existence and that picture was now hiding in the darkness. "Please, no," she begged no one in particular, feeling wildly on the floor. The corner of one of the frames met her fingertips and she grasped for it, securing it in her hand and slashing her palm on the broken glass in the process.

More people were screaming now and she could hear fellow renters on her floor and the floor above running for the stairs. An orange color was glowing from around the edges of the blanket she'd nailed against the window earlier, but it wasn't enough to add helpful light. The heat in the room was growing, as was the floor she felt against. Violet had set fire to homes and knew that the wooden frame of the old apartment building would be consumed in no time flat. It was already spreading quickly.

Violet had once heard Count Olaf brag that he had an entire theatre in flames in less than thirty seconds, all because the local critic gave him a poor review. Now she didn't doubt it. Either he had a better technique for starting fires than regular matchsticks or the apartment building was made of such dry wood that the fire ate it up. The rate that it spread was astonishing. A sheen of sweat was beginning to soak her neck and brow as she flung her arms wide along the floor, hoping to feel the other two pictures.

From behind her was the sound of glass crashing and, before she even had a chance to look, the blanket which she'd nailed over the window was up in flames. It took all of ten seconds to be devoured by the fire and then thick smoke began to fill the room. The flames were creeping up her wall toward the ceiling and Violet watched a spider fleeing the heat.

She looked down and saw the picture of her siblings laying a few feet away. Then she glanced down to see the one in her hand was of Beatrice. Quigley was still missing. Violet's eyes were watering from the black smoke and she bent to cough, then sucked in another mouth full of hot ash. The shock of it sent her slumping to the ground, trying to gasp clean air and finding none. Quigley's picture – she had to find Quigley's picture.

Violet wanted to stand, but she couldn't make herself. Her chest was tight and no matter how much she coughed, it only made her feel more tired. Sweat was creeping down her face as she watched her bed catch fire from where she was slumped in the floor. Somewhere, she was aware of a loud banging, but it was hard to tell over the roar of the flames. Violet remembered that time her parents had taken them swimming and she'd held her breath underwater too long – how it made her throat burn. That was nothing compared to how she felt with the fire ripping around her. Each breath grew smaller and smaller because it just hurt too much, there wasn't enough air. Violet's eyes grew too heavy to hold open any longer and so they slid shut, her fingers tightening slightly around the photos she held to her chest.

There was another loud bang, this one more concrete than before. Perhaps the foundation was crumbling. The heat of a nearby flame licked her ankle. Violet felt so heavy, she didn't even bother to move. For a moment she thought part of the wall caved in, covering her, but it was just the hot hands of another person. They were trying to pull Violet up, but she gulped that hot air and pulled away, eyes opening weakly to scan for the photo of Quigley. Nearly everything was on fire now and it was almost impossible to see through the black smoke.

Again the hands reached for her and she lashed at them weakly with the picture frames, slashing at their arms. In an instant, the frames were smacked from her hold and eaten in the nearby fire, while she was hoisted up and thrown over someone's shoulder. Violet tried to scream, reaching for the frames with a crazed determination, but was taken by a fit of violent coughing. Again she felt sleepy and tried to kick half-heartedly, but each breath of the hot air slowed her movements more and more before she lost contact with everything and grew still.


	3. Chapter 3

Violet gave a terrible cough and sputtered, hand grasping for anything it could reach. When she opened her eyes, they were blurry and stung, so she quickly closed them again. Her hand found a handle of some sort and she latched onto it, vaguely aware that she was laying across the seat of some sort of vehicle.

The pictures? Where were the pictures? Violet pried her eyes open again, trying to blink away the blurriness and feeling with her free arm. All that met her fingertips were the carpeted floor and the plush seat in front of her. Again she coughed, hacking so hard that white lights flashed across her vision. Each breath sent a terrible stab through her throat and each gasp for air, a burning in her chest.

Violet tried to pull herself up, but the movement of the car and the swaying in her foggy brain made it difficult. The car smelled vaguely familiar and a knot of anxiety lodged itself in her stomach. When she managed to raise herself, clinging to the seat in front of her, she looked to the rearview mirror and met those shiny eyes.

Count Olaf was alone, driving with her splayed across the backseat. His eyes were not on the road, but on Violet.

"Photos?" she croaked, a note of hysteria leaking through the pain of speaking.

Count Olaf's mouth curled into a sneer. "What photos?" he asked, eyes raging like the fire he'd stolen her from. In all her years, she wasn't sure she'd seen him this angry and, despite her own anger, she remained quiet. Years of abuse did that to a person. No matter how brave she thought herself, the fear of that man was instilled so deeply that there was nothing to be done.

Violet simply laid back down in the seat, her ash-covered hands finding the ring that lay just inside the neck of her dress. For a good while the only noises to be heard were her rasping breaths from the backseat. Then, without warning, the car veered violently to the right. Violet's head jammed into the door. She hoped they were crashing, leading to the death of the driver. She had no such luck, however. When the car came to an abrupt halt, Count Olaf was gone in the blink of an eye, slamming his door shut with an unnecessary force. Then the door her head jammed against was thrown open and his long fingers were digging into her arms, pulling her from the car. Violet let him, not wanting to anger him further, and her feet found the solid asphalt beneath them.

It was quiet where they were. Overhead, a million little pinpricks of light dotted the black sky and Violet knew they were far from the city. The only light came from a flickering bulb which illuminated an otherwise dark building sitting among a few trees. There was a sidewalk which led from the doors of the building to the parking lot in which they stood.

Without a word, Count Olaf grasped her sharply beneath the arm and dragged her toward the building. Violet couldn't help but notice there were no other cars in the lot or people around. Even though she began coughing again, he still dragged her through her hacking toward the dismal looking building. Once they were close enough, Violet could see it was a rest area. The inside, as it was evening, was locked, but there were entries open to the bathrooms on either side. She realized with discreet horror that she was being forced into the men's restroom and that, to her knowledge, she'd never been in a men's restroom before in her life.

Before she even had the chance to protest, she was shoved inside and toward the sinks. The walls were a sickly lime color and there was a terrible stench in the air. Count Olaf directed her to a mirror and said with distaste, "Wash the soot off your face."

Violet, that knot of fear still coiled in her stomach, nodded and did as she was told. When she reached to turn the taps, she saw there were several blisters on her fingers, as well as dried blood on her palm. Olaf watched her reflection with a careful regard and Violet, aware of this, refused to look up at him. With shaking fingers, she first cleaned her hands, then pressed the cool water onto her face. Even her arms and neck were covered with grime, so she attended those once her face was clear. There was nothing to be done about the dress, singed along the sleeves. Once she was finished getting what ash from her skin that she could, Violet cupped her hands and let the water fill them, bending to take a sip. The cool water soothed her throat and she stayed like that for nearly a full minute, getting her fill.

Count Olaf, losing his patience, butted her out of the way and took a turn wiping the soot from his own face. Violet didn't dare look at his reflection, but she could still feel his eyes on her the entire time.

"You're being quiet," he finally said, standing and turning off the tap. Violet was looking toward the floor and noticed he had a few singe marks on his trousers.

"So are you," she said, gravel still thick in her voice despite the water she'd had. It was odd behavior for him, considering she knew him to be one of the most boastful men she'd ever come across.

In reply he only grunted, then grabbed her by the arm and led her back outside. Violet's vision was clearer now and she scanned the area, looking for any escape. Count Olaf allowed her to entertain the notion for a moment before reaching under her chin with his long fingers and slowly steering her face toward his. Violet had no choice but to meet his eyes. "My car is faster than you," he said lowly, with great danger in his tone, "And it causes more damage."

Violet looked away and nodded, trying to quell the roll of fear in her stomach. Olaf flung her face from his hand, as if it burned to touch her, and then steered her to the backseat of his car. Violet wished desperately that some traveler would pull into the rest stop and she could scream out for help, but there was no sign of headlights as he opened the door, nor a lost family looking for directions as he shut her inside.

Count Olaf once again took the driver's seat and then they were off, back on some lonely highway. Violet, her mind clear from the smoke of the fire, now looked around her for anything that might assist an escape. The locks on both doors were busted. There were no left-behind items in the floor that she might have been able to use for something – anything – to escape. The windows would be hard to break without something small and pointed to shatter them.

Despite her hair not being up in a ribbon, Violet's mind went to the ring hanging around her neck. The diamond in the middle peaked upward, just maybe sharp enough to shatter the window. But, when her eyes shot to the rearview mirror, he was watching her with a knowing look. With a defeated sigh, she leaned back against the seat and watched a smirk of triumph cover his mouth.

"I know you three better than anyone else alive," he said, congratulating himself. "I know you like the back of my hand, Violet Baudelaire, and I _know_ better than to look away."

Violet said nothing, only sitting in quiet defeat, trying not to let the fear get the best of her. They drove for perhaps a quarter hour in silence before she noticed the gaudy lights in the distance. The closer they crept, the clearer they became and she saw it was some side-of-the-road 24-hour diner, all lit up with neon light fixtures. "We're eating," he announced, braking the car to prepare for the turn. "I won't even make you pay. See? I'm not as cruel as you remember."

All Violet could remember was that morning, years ago, when he'd fixed warm breakfast for her, Klaus, and Sunny. Oh, it had been delicious, sure – warm porridge with fresh raspberries – but it was only an attempt to earn their trust and disguise his next scheme at gaining their fortune. The thought of it sent a shiver down her spine. That was the time he tried to marry her.

Count Olaf parked and, once his door was again slammed, opened the door for her. At least he didn't insist on dragging her out like some child once more. When she stood, though, one of his long arms wrapped around her neck and drew her back against his chest. Under her ribs, she could feel something very sharp poking against her. Though she couldn't see it, she knew he had a knife in his free hand. "No funny business," he muttered into her hair, near her ear. Violet shuddered at the warmth of his breath and the chill of his tone. When she didn't answer, the knife jabbed under her rib a little harder.

"Alright," she said, glad when he released her. Count Olaf said nothing for a moment as he shut her door, then flung an arm over her shoulders, like two lovers or close friends, and steered them toward the diner.

"Good," he muttered. "Then we'll talk business."

Violet wasn't sure what that meant and didn't like the sound of it at all. Once inside, Count Olaf sauntered over to the darkest, grimiest corner of the empty restaurant and chose a booth. When she slid into her own side, near the edge, Olaf nudged his head toward the wall and muttered, "All the way in." Sliding next to the wall, Violet felt him stretch his legs under the table and rest them on the bench next to her, preventing any escape.

"You were watching us the entire time," she said suddenly, letting her eyes drift up to his and looking at him – _really_ looking at him – for the first time since he'd reentered her life. Olaf still looked much the same, just as greedy and nefarious, but there was a different expression on his face now. His brow was tucked as if in thought and then, when he opened his mouth to speak, an older waitress appeared. Olaf's eyes darted from Violet to the waitress and he broke out into a smile.

"What can I get you to drink?" she said, boredom clear in her tone. Violet thought it must have been quite dull to work an overnight shift, especially seeing as she and Count Olaf were the only two customers.

Violet watched Olaf's eyes scan over the shoulder of the woman, looking to see what beverages they offered. The disappointment which grew on his face was probably due to his realization that they didn't offer wine, or any alcohol for that matter. "Tea will do," he said, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

"Regular…lemon…raspberry…or peach?" the woman droned, like some of the terrible actors in Count Olaf's plays reciting lines.

Since looking at him, Violet hadn't let her gaze drop and watched a softness appear in his eyes. It was unsettling. "Raspberry," he said, then his eyes swung around to meet Violet's once again.

"Just a water, please," she told the woman without looking at her. The waitress told them she'd be right back, but it was unheard to either of them as they were locked in a staring contest.

"I was aware you brats had stolen my home, yes," he admitted, the softness in his eyes gone, replaced by the heat of anger once more.

"You would sometimes peek in through the windows. Or hide in the back yard," she added, not a question, but a statement.

"Yes," he said, offering no more.

At this Violet blushed terribly, thinking of the times she and Quigley had snuck out to his stage in the dead of night, the feeling of being watched lurking around her.

"Yes, I was aware of _that,"_ he said, mouth sneering in disgust as he realized what she was blushing over. "Not to worry, I wasn't interested in _seeing_ it _._ I was more horrified at what was being done on my stage."

Violet was glad for the interruption of the waitress bringing their drinks and immediately took a long gulp of her water. Not only did it soothe her throat, but she hoped it calmed the redness of her embarrassment. It appeared that Count Olaf ordered for the two of them while Violet tried to soften her humiliation, keeping her face low in the cup. When he spoke next and she looked up, the waitress was gone.

"I never saw a thing," he said, lips still pursed. Violet nodded, then dipped her head low again toward the cup while her face exploded with heat once more.

"Why didn't you come after us then?" she asked into the cup, the noise distorting slightly.

She wasn't sure he understood, as he was quiet for a moment, but then he said with some amount of ill-disguised horror, "I had no interest in kidnapping two naked teenagers who were…going at it!"

Violet coughed so hard that she saw the white lights in front of her eyes again, water spewing from her mouth and down across her dress. "No," she said before being taken by another fit of hacking. "No, I meant while we lived at your house!"

Count Olaf took a lazy swig from his tea, then dipped his finger below the surface and spun the ice. "It didn't fit in my plans," he said simply.

Violet, despite her red face, looked up and gave him a quizzical look. "Haunting the footsteps of orphaned children and attempting to steal their fortune no longer fit your plans?"

The ice in his cup was swirled a few more times until he looked back up at her. "I never said that, now did I?" he asked, leaving it at that.

The two fell back into silence, Violet finding a book of matches in the ashtray and Olaf spinning the ice in his cup. Finally the woman brought their meals, sandwiches of some sort, and let them be again. "How much does one have to pay a waitress to poison someone's food?" Violet asked, poking at her sandwich with suspicion written all over her face.

Count Olaf scoffed, his sandwich already missing two bites. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead," he declared under his breath. Violet felt suddenly suffocated with his ankle and foot pressed against the outside of her thigh.

"You should have just left me in the fire," she muttered, opening the matchbook and running her fingertips over the matches. Her eyes found the sandwich in front of her, but she made no move to grab it. Her mind was not on eating at all. Violet's mind kept imagining Quigley's photo curling up in the flames, crisp and blackened.

"If I had done that," Olaf said, mouth half-stuffed with food, "I would have lost one-third of the fortune."

It was the way he said it, making sure to say only _one-third_ of the fortune, which made her freeze. "You will not go _near_ Sunny or Klaus," she demanded, the pain in her throat not keeping the words from biting out sharp.

Olaf merely gave her his crooked grin and then took a long drink of his raspberry tea. "Little girls don't call the shots," he said, eying her plate. "And you'd better eat that after I bought it for you."

"I'm not a little girl, anymore," she said, just as fiercely as before. Not wanting to push her luck, however, she picked up her sandwich and took a small bite, keeping the matches in her free hand. It was a mixture of lunch meats that she couldn't exactly identify and didn't want to think too much about.

Count Olaf merely shrugged. "I suppose not," he said, then returned to the subject of the fortune, eyes shining in excitement. "I've weaseled a few friends into Mulctuary Money Management. Seeing as the two you listed as payable-upon-death are now both _dead,_ your money would revert to the bank. And then it would be rather sticky trying to get my hands on it."

For a moment, panic tightened inside her chest, thinking he'd meant Sunny and Klaus. But, that was right – she'd listed Quigley and Beatrice as those who would receive her account money should she perish. The thought of the two brought a flash of pain to her face, but it was masked a second later. Olaf noted her small flinch and wondered if her loss attributed to the dark circles under her eyes or her generally unkempt appearance.

"I'm not hungry," she muttered after only the third bite, laying the sandwich down and pushing the plate away. "I'll throw up in your car if I take another bite."

Well, he could hardly argue with that, could he? Olaf gave her a disapproving look and swept her sandwich up in his hands, taking a bite where she'd left off. He thought she'd of been happy to see food – it looked as if she only ate once every week or so with how thin her hands were.

Violet was preoccupied with the matchbook again. She was glad, though, that Count Olaf was eating after her and not the other way around. The thought of putting her mouth where his had been made her stomach roll.

"You said we'd talk business," she said, lazily striking a match and watching the flame dance between her fingers.

Count Olaf watched as well, with a careful regard as he knew she'd started a few fires of her own. "I kept my eyes on you three, followed you to your _precious_ Uncle Monty's. By then, my friends at the bank had told me about the three separate accounts. But I needed you alive and you were always together, holed up in that snake house. I couldn't burn it down without killing you, too."

Violet's brow tucked, though she still never looked away from the lit match burning bright in her hold. "Why keep me alive?" she said, a note of distraction in her voice. Her fingers were beginning to grow warm and she wondered how long she could hold it.

"Well, one of you had to be alive to get the money. Neither of them were payable-upon-death on your account. But, you're payable-upon-death on theirs."

It actually didn't shock her. After years of dealing with him, she'd expected something along those lines. Still, she finally looked up from the match with a worried expression. "What have you done to Sunny and Klaus?" she said, wincing as the fire burned her. Violet dropped the match and it burned out as soon as it landed on the table.

Count Olaf grinned that wicked grin and let her worry for a moment. Then he finally said, "Nothing _yet."_

"We can work something out," Violet said quietly, hoping beyond hope that he didn't have henchmen at Uncle Monty's awaiting the order to ignite the home. "Let me talk to Klaus and Sunny. I'm sure they'll give you their money and no one has to die. Just take it and leave us alone."

Violet's mind was ticking, thinking of where they could get jobs to support themselves. Perhaps she could patent some inventions. Klaus could work in a library somewhere. Sunny would have to go to school, of course, but maybe she could find evening work at a restaurant nearby.

"You've always been the most sensible of the three. Klaus was a sarcastic little brat and the baby just…liked to _bite._ You, _my dear,_ knew when to shut up. I was relieved you were the one that had to be kept alive. But-," he said sourly, plucking up a raspberry from his glass and popping it into his mouth, "- there's a problem with your solution. You flew the nest like some criminal in the night and I couldn't afford to lose track of you, so I had to follow. When you were all settled, I went back to find the others gone."

Violet looked up at him, unable to suppress the glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Gone?" she said, the heat on her fingers forgotten momentarily.

Count Olaf scoffed, lips tugging down at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, _gone._ They still haven't returned."

At that moment, the waitress returned with new drinks and laid their bill face down on the table. Then she was gone, back to the kitchen where some unseen cook was laughing.

During the time the waitress was near, both had grown quiet, but a nasty realization crossed Violet's mind.

"You set my house on fire," she said, blame etched in every feature of her face. It was _his_ fault. It was all his fault that Beatrice was gone, that Quigley was gone, and probably that her parents were gone.

Count Olaf scowled, grabbing the bill and crumpling it into his palm. "I see you're still blaming me for fires I didn't start," he said with a rather nasty tone, then tossed the bill to the ground and stood. "I don't know who set your house on fire."

"But someone _did,"_ she insisted. "Klaus said it was an accident, but I don't think it was." Seeing as Olaf was standing, she scooted to the end and stood too, kicking the bill with her foot as she did. Apparently they weren't paying.

"You're right," he said, throwing his arm over her shoulders again and steering her toward the door. There was haste in his step, which she thought was probably due to not wanting to be caught by the waitress. "I wasn't there when it happened, but I saw the aftermath. The interior was less damaged. Someone started it from the outside."

Violet was nodding, her head bobbing against his shoulder. "That's what I thought," she said. "That's how the others burned."

There was no need to specify that she meant the fires _she'd_ started. They both knew.

When they reached the car, Olaf again opened the back door, but Violet paused. "So," she said, "What happens when we find Sunny and Klaus?"

Count Olaf looked over his shoulder at the diner, irritation growing over his face. When he looked back, that anger was shining in his eyes again. "I kill them."

Violet, prepared for that answer, raised her eyebrows and retorted, "I've got a better idea."

"Oh?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder again. Apparently the waitress hadn't noticed yet. Though, due to her lack of work ethic, she may not have even cared.

"You leave my siblings alone. And their money-," she started to say, but was interrupted by Olaf's dry laughter.

"Get in the car," he said, wanting to hear no more. One of his hands grabbed her around the top of her arm and was trying to force her down into the backseat.

"You leave Klaus and Sunny alone. And their money," she continued, not budging. "You can have mine and –"

"Why would I want _one-third_ when I could have _three-thirds,_ you stupid girl?" he interrupted again, pushing her harder toward the seat.

" _And-,"_ she pressed, "You can have something worth three times our fortune."

At this, Olaf stilled, his hand growing relaxed on her arm. "What do you mean?" he demanded, eyes shining brilliantly.

Violet smiled, though there was a sadness in her eyes. If this is what she had to do to buy time for her siblings, then that's just what she would have to do. It pained her to do so, but she would gladly trade the ghosts of the past for the security of the future.

"I'm the only living person-," she said, giving him a careful look, "- who knows where the Quagmire sapphires are hidden."

There was a moment of pause as the air between them shifted. Violet had seen Count Olaf perform enough power plays that he'd now created a worthy opponent. A slow, wicked smile grew over Olaf's face and his hand abandoned her arm, instead going to her chin. He looked closely at her, inspecting every corner of her face for a lie.

"You said you wanted to talk business," she said in a slow tone, watching him as he dissected her expression. "So let's talk business. You harm my family, you harm one little hair between the two, and the location of the sapphires will go with me to my grave."

It happened so quickly that Violet didn't realize what happened until after it was over. Olaf tightened his hold on her chin and leaned close, pressing his lips to her forehead for just the slightest of moments. Then he pulled away, but only slightly, his face still hovering inches from hers.

"Well played," he said, some strange note of pride in his voice, and then before she knew it, they were back in the car and on the dark highway before the waitress even noticed they'd gone.


	4. Chapter 4

The house was everything Violet expected. Off in the outskirts of some city, it sat just as crooked and dismal as the first house of his she had encountered. There was an unpainted picket fence which was riddled with rot. As they walked up the busted stone path to the front door, overgrown grass scratched at her ankles. The only light, much like the rest stop, came from a flickering bulb swaying above the door. From that dim source of light, she could see the paint was flaking off the house. Broken bottles in the yard glimmered.

"My girlfriend is terribly jealous," he said as they reached the porch, his long fingers fiddling with his key ring. "When she returns, you'll act as a maid named Veronica."

Violet scrunched up her nose for two reasons. One, she couldn't imagine how on earth Count Olaf managed to get a girlfriend. Two, she knew the inside of the home had to be just as bad as the outside. It would be so overwhelming that she wouldn't know where to start.

"Lucky for you," he continued as they stepped up to the door, pausing to slide a rusted key into the lock, "I already have a butler in my hire. You'll be sharing quarters with him."

Unease swept through Violet's stomach and she gave him a wide-eyed look. "You can't expect me to share a room with a butler I don't even know," she argued. "It's indecent."

Count Olaf gave the door a hard nudge with his hip and it swung open, revealing nothing but darkness. "I suppose you'll be taking turns sleeping on the bed if you're so uncomfortable," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye, motioning for her to step inside first.

Violet eyed the darkness, childishly thinking there would be a monster inside to grab her. Then she remembered the monster already had her. Holding her breath, she stepped into the darkness. There was a dull thud and the light from the porch went out, Olaf having shut the door after following her inside. There was the distinct noise of a lock tumbling and then something landed on her shoulder and she gave a small jump, though realized he laid his hand there. A moment later, there was light. Violet turned to see his other arm outstretched above him, having just tugged a pull string for the hallway light.

The inside of the house was even worse than she imagined – somehow even worse than his first house. Layer upon layer of differing wallpapers were curling toward the floor. The staircase in front of her was missing a bannister. The windows may or may not have had glass – it was impossible to tell as they were completely boarded up.

"This way," he droned, keeping his hand on her shoulder and steering her through the living room. Well, it certainly had been _lived in,_ that was for sure. A man with whom Violet had never met was snoring loudly from a moth-eaten couch. There were blankets and pillows strewn about the floor, mixed with broken records, tattered books, and those oh-so-familiar wine bottles.

"That's Viktor," Count Olaf told her, thumbing over his shoulder toward the sleeping man. "One of my troupe. I don't believe you've met."

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," Violet said, caring very little to disguise the distaste in her tone. The man was quite large, with thick glasses and greasy hair which clung from his crown to the nape of his neck. "He seems charming," she added, after he let out a horrendous snore.

Count Olaf, unused to her rather dry humor, had a difficult time disguising his grin. Violet didn't seem to notice or care. Her eyes were trained on the darkness in front of them. Again, he reached for a light above them and she saw it was a dining room.

Well, it had _been_ a dining room. It seemed it was now being used as…actually, she wasn't sure what. There were bits of cloth and sewing supplies strewn across the rickety table which was pushed up to one wall. In one corner sat a piano and in the middle of the room lay several single mattresses all pushed together among spilled wine cups. There was a large window which overlooked the room and would have been quite lovely if it wasn't covered with thick sheets of wood. It was complete with a cushioned window seat, which Violet felt was the most welcoming sight in the room.

"The rumpus room," Olaf explained as they passed through. Rumpus, indeed. Violet imagined it had to be used for the practice of his theatre troupe, though it was in such disorder that she wondered if anyone actually enjoyed spending time in there.

Before he even turned on the next light, she knew they were near the kitchen – the smell hit her. The same ghastly scent of his kitchen before, of unwashed dishes, of rotting food, of animal droppings. When he flicked on the light, it was as if she'd been transported to that terrible day years before when she first entered Count Olaf's guardianship. The plates were stacked high, ready to topple over. The taps on the sink looked to be rusted solid. There were scurrying noises from the cupboards.

"I thought you had a butler," she asked, raising the sleeve of her dress and pressing it against her nose. The smell of smoke clung to her and it made her head spin, but it was far better than the foul scent of Count Olaf's kitchen.

"He's only been recently acquired," Olaf said, eyes shining like he was telling a joke, though she wasn't sure what it might be. Then he pointed with one slim finger toward a door off the kitchen. "That's the servant's quarters," he said.

Violet's eyes darted, for just the slightest moment, to the back door, but it wasn't quick enough to go undetected to her ex-guardian. Count Olaf held up the key ring, which held several keys, and leaned close to her with a menacing smirk. "That's the thing about old houses. Some need a key to get in _and_ out."

This was true, although unfortunate. The Baudelaire mansion had been one such home. Violet remembered being stuck inside one day, wanting to go to Briny Beach, but she and her siblings were locked inside while they awaited their parents return from the grocery. It seemed lifetimes ago, but she still clearly remembered not being able to wait getting older and having her own key, to go as she pleased.

"I'll have my costume seamstress come over in the morning to measure you. Unless you'd rather wear those rags every day," he said suddenly, as if he hadn't just enforced the fact that she was very much his captive.

"I, uhm. Yes, thank you," she said, unsure what to say. On one hand, she would be glad to be rid of the singed dress, but on the other she imagined he would only invest in the cheapest materials and it would be like Mrs. Poe's clothing all over again. Just the thought made Violet itch.

"Good," he said. "We'll have to find you something _maid-ish_ after we run errands tomorrow. Ursa will be back tomorrow night and I'll never hear the end of it if you aren't hired help."

Now, it might just have been because she was Count Olaf's girlfriend, but Violet couldn't help but think Ursa was a dreadful name that probably belonged to a dreadful person. The thought of anyone getting jealous of Violet spending time in Count Olaf's company seemed preposterous. It wasn't as if it were by choice or even slightly enjoyable.

"Alright," she said, not voicing her thoughts. Violet's eyes swept to the door of the _servant's quarters,_ as he'd put it. An anxious tremor ran through her, wondering what this butler was like and whether or not he was there by choice. If so, that was unfortunate for her. If not, they may be able to plot an escape. Violet hoped the room had a window large enough to fit through, but knew it would all depend on whether this butler was loyal to Count Olaf or not.

Inside the room, Violet was met with two things which she didn't expect. There had been a moment after Count Olaf pushed her into the room, the sound of a lock sliding behind her, that she was standing in that suffocating darkness which loomed around the house. Then, from the corner of the room, there was a sudden beam of light.

The flashlight was being held by her first unexpected twist. The butler was not a butler at all, but a small boy no older than seven. Once her eyes adjusted and she realized this, she watched the boy put a finger to his lips, signaling her to stay silent. Violet nodded and looked around, finding her second unexpected mishap. There was no way they would fit through the window because there wasn't a window at all. The room was tiny, a twin mattress on the floor taking up the majority of the space. Lining the walls were dusty shelves which hung from ceiling to floor. Their bedroom was a pantry.

Above, the floorboards creaked with each of Count Olaf's footsteps. After a moment the floor gave a load moan and there was the sound of bedsprings creaking.

"You have to be quiet," whispered the little boy. "He's right above us."

With a dreadful feeling, Violet looked up at the ceiling. There was a small hole in the corner. Motioning for the flashlight, the little boy handed it over and she stood as close as she could get to under the hole, which was hard with the way the shelves were made. Shining the flashlight up, she could see the edge of a metallic candy wrapper and the bottom of Count Olaf's bed.

Violet handed the boy back the flashlight and wondered if Count Olaf knew the hole was there. A shudder ran down her spine, imagining him crawling beneath his bed and spying on them as they slept.

"I'm Alec," he whispered, breaking her from the horrible thought. "I'm the butler."

Violet nodded and stuck out her hand, which he took and she noticed what a firm grip he had for a young boy. "I'm Violet," she said in a hushed tone. "I'm the maid. Though, I think you're supposed to call me Veronica."

Alec nodded. "I heard," he said, nudging his head toward the door. "If Ursa knew you were Violet Baudelaire, she would be really mad."

Violet wasn't sure how to reply or how this little boy even knew who she was. After a moment of silence, she finally asked, "Why would she be mad?"

The little boy shrugged and hopped over onto the mattress with a bounce. "I dunno. She screams a lot because she says he pays more attention to you than her."

A sinister feeling creeped up her spine and Violet shook away the chill bumps that crossed her arms. "Is that so?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.

"Yeah," Alec said, sitting the flashlight on the shelf so it illuminated their small room. "But, I'm glad you're here. It'll be like having a sister! You can sleep at one end of the bed and I'll sleep on the other. And at night we can make fun of Viktor's greasy hair."

Violet, though, was not happy she was there. There is a saying that goes "misery loves company" and Violet could see, despite his giddiness at having her there, that Alec had misery in his eyes. So even though she would rather be anywhere else in the world, Violet crawled onto the small mattress next to him and said with a smile, "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

Alec grinned a toothy smile and curled up next to her. It was then that Violet realized they were given no blankets or pillows. Or sheets, for that matter. Wondering who else had slept on that mattress with no sheets had her suppressing a shudder.

"So, Alec," she whispered, turning onto her side to face the boy, "How did you end up the butler?"

Violet suspected this was one of Olaf's nefarious schemes and the boy didn't disappoint her.

"He kidnapped me," the boy said, the glee in his voice confusing Violet beyond all else.

"You –," she started, trying to find the right words, "- seem okay with that."

Alec nodded and gave a giddy giggle, then the two looked up at the ceiling in horror as the bed springs creaked again. Once they were sure they hadn't woken the monster, he whispered, "I always wanted to be kidnapped. It's like an adventure!"

Violet wondered what sort of home life the boy had prior to warrant such desires. But, not wanting to dash his charming little smile, she said, "That's one way of looking at it. Has it been an adventure for you?"

Alec grinned from ear to ear, looking up at her with such excitement that it nearly took her breath away. "One time Count Olaf took me to see a house that burned down. And last week we got to go to this really old apartment building and pretend to work for the phone company so he could see how the power and phone lines worked in there!"

At this her stomach turned with a sneaking suspicion that both of those things involved her. Somehow she managed to keep the grimace off her face. "So, you like it here?" she asked, unable, however, to keep the dismay from her voice.

Alec's face suddenly turned sullen and she got a glimpse of the misery she saw before. "Count Olaf hates me. And his friends are all terrible. Mostly I just have to do dumb chores all day," he said in a glum tone.

Violet nodded, sympathetic. This was the story she knew well. During her first time with Count Olaf, she and her siblings had been forced to do terrible chores, one right after the other. They had to replace window panes, weed the jungle of a garden, and once spent an entire day trying to clean the grime off a single plate. "I lived with Count Olaf before," she said quietly, leaning in as if telling him a huge secret. "With my brother Klaus and my sister Sunny. He would leave us huge lists with terrible chores and expect us to be done by the time he got home. There were so many things that it was impossible to finish and so he'd send us to bed with no dinner."

The little boy nodded solemnly. "That's the same as me. Why did you move away?"

A memory flashed through her mind, that terrible moth-eaten dress, Justice Strauss in her wig, Sunny hanging from that cage. "He tried to make me marry him," she said. "I was only fourteen and he just wanted our fortune. Luckily, I thought to sign the certificate with my left hand, which meant it wasn't legal because I'm right-handed. So, his plan was exposed and they took us away from him."

That wasn't the entire truth, however. Count Olaf's plan _did_ get exposed and he lost guardianship, but the next two years of their life were spent running from his shadows. Violet's teen years were filled with sorrow and murder.

Alec yawned and laid his head in the crook of her arm, apparently having taken a liking to her. Violet smiled, never having met a more trusting child. "He's not all bad," he said, sleep beginning to cloud up his voice. Violet looked down and saw his eyes had slid shut. "Sometimes when he drinks a lot of wine, he lets me out and tries to teach me piano."

Violet chuckled, then stilled when Alec reached across her and grabbed the lobe of her ear. At first she hadn't known what he was doing, but then a sear of pain ripped through her chest when he started rubbing it between his fingers. Little Beatrice had done the same thing when she was sleepy and neither Violet nor Quigley had ever seen a child do that before. She wasn't sure what it was about holding an earlobe, but it seemed to comfort Beatrice and so she let Alec continue doing it.

"Are you any good at piano?" she whispered after a moment, not sure if he was even still awake as his fingers had stilled.

Alec gave a long drag of breath, as if he'd just been pulled from the edge of sleep by her words. "No," he said and she could hear a sleepy grin in his voice, "But, neither is Count Olaf."

Violet smiled and closed her eyes, deciding to let him sleep. Since the fire – well, the fire which took Quigley and Beatrice from her – Violet didn't sleep well and often went days without even a nap. However, earlier was the first fire she'd ever actually been trapped in and that, in addition to Count Olaf reappearing in her life, had zapped what energy she had. Within moments she was near sleep, only vaguely aware of little Alec curling deeper into her side and nuzzling his head against her.

"You should have married Count Olaf," she remembered him saying. "Then mean Ursa wouldn't be around and he would probably be a lot happier."

Violet recalled wondering if he meant Count Olaf would be happier with Ursa gone or herself around, but was too near sleep to answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Violet awoke suddenly to a sharp knocking.

" _Up,"_ said the voice. "Get up. We've got things to do."

Violet groaned and lifted her head, her neck stiff. In her arms there was a child, which puzzled her at first, then she remembered with dismay that she was at Count Olaf's home. There was the sound of a lock being slid and the door creaked open, revealing the monster himself.

"Servants, up. There's a lot to be done," he insisted, an edge of annoyance in his tone.

"Give us a minute," she said, trying to twist her back in order to pop it. Had she not been so exhausted, Violet suspected she would have slept horribly on the lumpy mattress. Next to her, Alec was twisting in the same fashion she was and rolling his shoulders.

"Hurry up," Count Olaf demanded, then slammed the door shut.

"Good morning," Alec said quietly, offering her a smile as he untangled himself from her arms.

"Good morning," she replied with a tired grin, then the two of them stood and stretched before exiting into the kitchen. No matter how tired she was, forgetting the stench of the kitchen was enough shock to wake her right up. What a horrendous thing to wake up to. When it came time for chores, Violet decided then that she would focus on the kitchen before anything else.

"My seamstress will be here any minute," Count Olaf said in a hurry, slumping two bowls down on the counter. Violet didn't even have to look to know it was cold porridge. She'd spent enough time with him to know his culinary skills were limited. Just the thought of that lumpy, tasteless mess had her missing Sunny. "Then we're going to meet with Mr. Poe. Well, you are, anyway. And then we have to pick up supplies for the party tonight. Butler, I expect the living and rumpus rooms to be spotless."

With that, Count Olaf turned on his heel and disappeared into the house while Violet and Alec were left standing there, trying to piece together what he'd said in their tired minds. Mr. Poe? Was he wanting her cut of their inheritance already? Would he be waiting outside in the car while she went into the bank? That would give her ample opportunity to tell Mr. Poe everything and have him alert the authorities. Suddenly Violet was itching for the seamstress to get there so she could be measured and they could leave for the bank. The porridge didn't seem half so bad when it was eaten with a positive possibility in the near future.

Alec, however, was flicking his food around the bowl with a glum expression. Violet finished in a hurry, setting her bowl on the counter. It seemed silly to clean it while she was surrounded in the mold and grime of much dirtier plates. Right as the bowl left her hand, there was a sharp knocking from somewhere else in the house.

"Front door," Alec mumbled, trying to make himself swallow another bite. Violet nodded in reply and stood still, unsure if she was supposed to go meet the seamstress or wait to be called. From the living room she heard heavy footsteps lumbering across the house, then someone fiddling with keys.

"Boss," cried a deep voice, "Lucia is here!"

Violet wracked her brain, but didn't recall ever having met a Lucia in Count Olaf's hire. Of course, she hadn't met Viktor, either, and wondered how many new faces she would have to remember. Down the staircase came Count Olaf's even steps and she heard him exclaim, "Lucia, my dear, how wonderful to see you again!" Violet thought this was the nicest she'd ever heard him be toward another person, but he ruined the moment by yelling, _"Maid!_ To the front door immediately!"

With a grimace, Violet threw Alec a look and stepped through the rumpus and living rooms, finally entering the small hallway which served at the entrance to the house. Viktor was standing there, eying her in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable. Count Olaf was to her right and put a hand on her shoulder, as he had done the evening before. Lucia stood in front of them, a small woman with a magnificent bunch of red hair which stuck up in curly tufts around her wrinkled face. She seemed very fashion-forward, sporting not only a sleek dress which Violet thought was far too young for her, but she also had oversized purple glasses which amplified her eyes.

"I also need you to take measurements on my new maid. Veronica recently lost everything in a fire," he said, not bothering to mention that he'd been the one to start it. "I've taken her in out of the goodness of my heart."

Violet smiled through her grimace toward the woman. The desires of Count Olaf's heart had more to do with vast fortunes than goodness.

"Oh, my," Lucia exclaimed dramatically. She came forward and clasped at Violet's sleeve, eying the singe marks which riddled it. "This simply won't do. You reek of smoke and ash. _Olaf,_ you monster," she said, though there was endearment in her tone, "You've let her stay in this horrid rag?"

Count Olaf merely shrugged. "My clothes are too long and Viktor's too big," he said, as if he'd even tried to get Violet a change of clothes.

Lucia gave a dramatic sigh and shook her head. _"Men!"_ she exclaimed, then offered Violet a wink. "I think I may have a few things in my trunk that would fit you, lovely girl." Lucia paused and looked over her shoulder at the men. _"Well?"_ she said in irritation. "Go and grab my trunk from the van! It's not often I actually get a pretty one to play dress up with!"

Viktor immediately did as he was told, but Violet noticed a look of pure fury on Count Olaf's face. The moment passed without incident, however, and Violet was being whisked into the rumpus room while the men made their way to the van parked outside.

" _Ugh,"_ Lucia exclaimed once her eyes met the dismal state of the room. "I'm glad he hired you to help. Olaf has always been one of those mad-genius types, dear, and mad-genius types, as smart as they are, never seem to grasp the importance of a broom."

Violet looked around and thought a broom would do little help for the room. Perhaps several bottles of bleach, a bulldozer, and a blowtorch. But a broom? No.

"I certainly have my work cut out for me," Violet said, giving the woman a grimace. Lucia flashed her a dazzling smile and pulled a tape measure from her leather purse. The woman hummed as she worked, some show tune Violet wasn't familiar with, and soon pulled away with a determined expression.

"I'm quite sure I have a dress or two which will be close enough to work until I can make a few to your proper measurements," she said. Violet nodded, then looked toward the living room, where there were sounds of a ruckus. The two women watched while the men struggled to get the gargantuan trunk in through the door. Viktor's face was quite red and Olaf's mouth was twisted into a snarl.

"It gets heavier every time you visit," the latter said, eyes shining in ill-disguised anger. "It's not as if any of us need an entire wardrobe." At that, the men dropped the trunk with a deafening thud.

That was untrue, though. Violet needed an entire wardrobe. She thought sadly that all she had were the clothes she was wearing. Then she thought of everything else she was missing and self-consciously ran her tongue over the front of her teeth. As much as she hated the idea of asking Count Olaf for anything, surely he would understand her need for a toothbrush.

" _Shoo!"_ Lucia said, not bothering to reply to his comment. "Out! Ladies first, then I'll get to fitting your new trousers."

Viktor, again, immediately left the room at her order, but Count Olaf stood tall and crossed his arms in defiance. "If I'm footing the bill," he said, "I need to make sure her clothing is appropriate for working in my home."

Violet knew, of course, that this boiled down to his supposedly jealous girlfriend that she'd not yet had the pleasure of meeting. It wasn't something she protested, anyway. Modest clothes had always made her feel more comfortable.

Lucia, though, looked to Violet with a questioning gaze, to which she nodded in reply. "He's right," Violet said, earning her a satisfied smirk from Count Olaf's direction.

The woman merely shrugged, then bent and popped open the locks on her trunk, which sprung open without being held shut. Things started to fly to left and right – bits of fabric, scissors, spools of thread – as she shifted through to find whatever it was she was after. "Ah!" she finally said, pulling a wad of fabric out, "Here we are. Olaf, darling, turn around while I change her. This would work marvelously for a work uniform, you'll simply love it."

Even though the seamstress vaguely reminded Violet of that horrid Esmé Squalor, she couldn't help but like the woman. She commanded Count Olaf with such an ease that it took Violet by great surprise. Olaf listened without a dark look for once, spinning and standing with his back to the two. In an instant, Lucia had a small stool pulled from the depths of her trunk and prodded Violet to stand on it. With hands as speedy as the peskiest mosquito, the seamstress had Violet's soiled dress on the floor, leaving her standing in the middle of the room in only her slip. It wasn't until then that Violet grew quite uncomfortable, not realizing at first that she'd be so indecent near a man, let alone Count Olaf. Her captor, however, behaved and never peeked, much to her relief.

"Here," Lucia commanded, shoving the bundle of fabric into Violet's arms. "You work on the top while I find the bottom piece," she added before diving into her trunk once more.

Violet could tell, just by holding it in her hands, that there wasn't enough fabric to be something decent. Whatever the bottom piece to the outfit was, she hoped it covered more. Sliding it over her head, she found her deductions correct. It had three-quarter sleeves, which she liked. That was about all she liked. The neckline was far too low, exposing the top curves of her bust. The length in the back was long, brushing her ankles, but the front fell several inches above her knees. When Lucia turned around, Violet saw with horror that she had a short petticoat.

"Step in," the seamstress ordered and Violet did so, not finding the bravery to protest. Once the petticoat was tucked away under the skirt, she looked very much like a maroon Little Bo Peep.

Violet tossed the possible rejections around in her mind, trying to think of the most polite, and finally said, "I'm not quite sure this is appropriate for work."

"The apron!" Lucia cried, diving back into her trunk. Violet slumped a little in dismay. Unless the apron brushed her ankles, it wouldn't do much help. The apron was near the bottom of the trunk and took several minutes to locate, but when she finally pulled it free, she had it tied around Violet's waist in the blink of an eye. It was a lacy thing, lovely on its own, but not to Violet's taste and certainly not long enough. "Olaf!" said Lucia in that dramatic fashion of hers. "Turn and see your new maid!"

Olaf had not been prepared for what he saw. The sight of Violet's pleading eyes and otherwise awkward stance was nearly too much to handle and he raised a hand to his face as if in thought, though he was trying to cover the twitching of his mouth. "It's lovely as always, Lucia," he began, locking on to Violet's near-pained gaze. "However, perhaps something a shade more modest."

Lucia spun toward Violet and the girl looked down at the seamstress, transforming her face from one of pleading to one of disappointment. "It is quite lovely," Violet said, "However, it's his home, his rules."

Olaf couldn't help but smirk at her obvious relief. While her eyes were turned toward Lucia, he took a moment to admire the eldest Baudelaire. It seemed she hid shapely legs under those long skirts of hers and, moving his sight upward, he spied upon the swell of her bust.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought of such things. Violet had created many dark thoughts in his mind over the years, beginning when she first came into his guardianship. When his marriage scheme was ruined, he was just as disappointed over missing their wedding night as he was losing the fortune. And later, when he'd become aware of what she and that Quagmire boy were doing on his stage, a terrible jealousy had lodged itself in his throat for several days. Many sleepless nights were spent imagining what she looked like under all those layers and now that she was back under his roof, he would certainly not be letting her go until he'd had his turn.

Before Violet's dark eyes turned back to his, Olaf spied a ring dangling near her cleavage from a simple brown cord. He tucked it away in his brain to investigate later and was looking as innocent as ever by the time Violet met his gaze. Though she didn't say a word, her eyes expressed thanks and he nodded in reply. It wasn't as if he would have allowed such an indecent outfit with Ursa coming back soon. He could only imagine the squawking he'd have to put up with if he introduced his new maid dressed in something like _that._

"I might have something else," the seamstress said, motioning for Count Olaf to turn back around. This time he did so, but waited for the rustling of fabrics to peek over his shoulder. Violet was struggling to remove the dress from over her head, exposing her satin slip to the room. Lucia was attempting to help her, having already removed the ghastly petticoat, and Olaf took the opportunity to stare at the way the slip flirted with Violet's thighs before turning back around.

Violet was relieved to have the monstrosity off of her and wondered what else was in store for her within Lucia's never-ending trunk.

"Here," Lucia said, pulling a thick bundle from the trunk. "It's rather plain as I hadn't finished, but it'll work in a pinch."

This bundle looked far more modest. It was a lovely shade of green, made from fine cotton, and the bodice was corseted in a display of immense skill.

"It's lovely," Violet said, running her fingers over the fabric. Lucia helped her changed and pulled the corset a bit too taut for Violet's taste, but she didn't protest.

"How is this, Olaf?" Lucia asked and the man spun, looking Violet over.

"That will do nicely," he said, glad it was modest enough for Violet, but still showed off her figure more than the rag he'd found her in.

"I've another in a different shade," Lucia said, ruffling around in her trunk and pulling forth the same dress in a butter yellow color. "These will have to do until next week."

Violet nodded and, to her relief, Count Olaf was finally shooed from the room so Lucia could take proper measurements while the girl stood in her slip. Every now and then, the seamstress would write a note on a pad of paper she pulled from her purse, then she would continue with her measuring. While she worked, they discussed aspects of the dresses she would make and decided three-quarter sleeves would be best for housework, as would the hem falling just above the ankles. When they were done, Violet was helped back into the green dress and sent to help Alec while Count Olaf was fitted for his new trousers.

She found the little butler in the kitchen, just staring at the massive piles of plates that sat staggering around the room.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?" she said kindly, laying a hand on the boy's head. "I've found it best, when faced with a big problem, to work on it in sections."

"It's just so much," Alec said miserably. "I'll never get it done for the party tonight."

Violet didn't have the heart to tell him that he wouldn't have it done by the following week, even if he worked non-stop with no sleep. Instead, she gave him a small smile and made her way to the sink.

"Well, we need the sink to clean the dishes, so we should start here," she said, pulling the filthy dishes from the sink and, finding nowhere else to put them, starting a new pile on the wooden table in the middle of the room. Alec sighed and joined her, together the two clearing the sink in record time, despite trying not to gag at the putrid smell coming from the drain.

"I think there's a dead animal down there," Alec said, pointing to the drain. Violet laid her hand on the back of the chair which he stood, Alec needing extra height to help, and stared at the drain.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she said, eying it warily as if expecting a half-dead raccoon to start crawling from its depths. Violet ducked and carefully opened the cabinet beneath the sink, watching with dismay as a cockroach scuttled in the back corner. There was an ancient looking jug of bleach, a filthy toothbrush, a long forgotten tub of glue, a bottle of liquid starch, and a half-used box of baking soda. Among those things, Violet could see the curved pipe which the sink water drained through and scrunched up her noise at the concentration of foul odor that lingered there. "I think we've got two problems," she said aloud.

Alec hopped down off the chair and stuck his head under the sink with her. It only took a moment before his face scrunched as hers had and he pinched his nose between his fingers. "It's worse down here!" he said, sounding as if he might be ill.

"You see this pipe?" Violet asked, pointing to the curved piece of metal beneath the sink. "This is called the P-trap. See how it curves up?" Her finger traced down the curve, then back up. "Sometimes things get stuck in there, like food. Which is probably the smell. But, this happens a lot and normally you can't tell because it doesn't smell. Because we can – and because the stench is worse down here – I think the seal might have a leak."

"So, what do we do?" the boy asked, which was a very good question. Violet pulled her hair back to the nape of her neck, wishing for a ribbon, and eyed the things beneath the sink.

"Do we have a wrench?" she asked, pulling herself away from the stench under the sink. Alec pursed his lips in thought, then his eyes lit up and he ran from the room without a word. Violet chuckled at his excitement and stood, returning to the rumpus room. Count Olaf was standing on the stool now, adding another foot to his height and making him seem all the more formidable. Lucia was crouched below, pinning the hem of his trousers.

"Why did the butler just run through here causing a ruckus?" Olaf asked, giving Violet a disapproving look.

"There's an issue with the sink. He went to find me a wrench," she explained, eying and grabbing her singed dress where it still lay in the floor. "Lucia, might I borrow a pair of scissors?"

The seamstress paused and looked at Violet over her shoulder. "Over here, lovely girl," she said with a smile, then turned back to her work. Count Olaf, however, was giving her a suspicious look.

"What's wrong with the sink? Why do you need a wrench?" he asked, eyes gleaming with mistrust. At that moment, he looked like he'd rather be looming over her shoulder than being fitted for his clothing.

"I think there's something stuck in the P-trap," she said simply, walking over and grabbing the scissors from where they sat next to his foot on the stool.

"The what-trap?" he asked, voice still full of suspicion.

"The P-trap," she repeated. "It's the curved pipe under the sink. There's a terrible smell, so we think something is stuck in there." Then, as an afterthought she added, "And there's probably a crack in the seal, but that's a separate problem."

Count Olaf eyed her over, then looked down at his ankles in distaste. He'd always been a brilliant liar, but his eyes gave him away. Violet knew he wished Lucia to hurry up so he could see if she and Alec were up to no good.

Violet wished she _was_ up to no good. If she had it her way, she'd steal Alec away and burn the place to the ground. Perhaps she would. But, she would need a plan and something to start the fire with and that was something she would have to think about when she had more free time.

Right then, she had something else to occupy her time. Alec's footsteps came raining down the stairs and he entered a moment later with a triumphant look and a rusty wrench in his grasp. Violet smiled and took the moment to cut two long strips from her soiled dress – one about four inches thick and the other perhaps an inch – then bundled what was left and tucked it under her arm. Afterward, she put the scissors back where she found them and retired to the kitchen, the feeling of Count Olaf's eyes burning into the back of her head.

"What first?" Alec asked, beaming in excitement. This was the first time Violet had ever had a proper assistant and she was glad to have such a happy one.

"Give me the wrench," she said, reaching out to take the tool, "And you try to find measuring cups. If you can't, I need a small cup." Violet ducked under the sink and took out the things in the cabinet, sitting them on the floor next to her. Then she readjusted the wrench to fit the pipe. As an afterthought she added, "Also, a big bowl and something to stir with."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Alec proclaimed, dragging the chair next to the sink over to the cabinets. While he looked, Violet worked on loosening the pipe, which was proving difficult as there was a lot of rust. Once she got it to budge, though, it was smooth sailing. With each twist of the wrench, the terrible odor grew and Violet was beginning to feel quite ill by the time the piece fell loose into her hand.

"Ugh, what _is_ that?" Alec asked, peering over her shoulder with a look of disgust.

Violet…well, Violet wasn't sure. Inside the pipe she could see some shapeless black mass that was emitting the putrid stench. "I'm not sure," she said, resisting the urge to gag. Instead, she gathered what was left of her soiled dress and spread it in an empty space of floor she found. Once she was done, she started tapping the pipe on the cloth and extracting the source of the smell.

Alec watched nearby with a mixture of horror and astonishment. "I think it was meat," he said, nose hidden in the crook of his elbow. Violet wasn't sure _what_ it was, other than sickly. The sour smell turned her stomach and that time she did gag, looking away and tucking her face away as Alec was doing.

"What is _that?"_ said a voice behind them, filled with horror. Violet didn't bother to look up at Count Olaf.

"We think it was meat at one time," she said, resisting the urge to gag a second time. Her reflexes won out and she made a nasty retching noise.

"Get it _out of here!"_ Count Olaf said, disgust thick in his voice. Violet kept her face tilted away as she hurriedly wrapped it in the remains of her dress and grabbed the edges of the fabric, hoisting it toward Count Olaf. _"I'm not touching it!"_ he hissed, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out his key ring.

Violet stood, trying not to think of the nauseating thing she was holding, and waited for him to unlock the back door. As soon as he did, she flung the dress out into the backyard. "Hopefully something will come along and eat it," she said with a shudder.

"Doubtful," Olaf replied, shutting and locking the door back. He turned back to Violet and gave her an impatient stare. "Hurry and finish, I want to get to the bank," he said and she sighed, nodding in reply.

The good thing about getting the mystery meat out of the house is that the kitchen smelled a lot better. Not exactly _good,_ as the stench still hung in the air and they were surrounded by filthy dishes, but it was a manageable odor. Violet picked up the P-trap and looked it over, finding a thin crack along the side. With a grin, she walked over to Alec and pointed to the crack. "Right there, see it?" she asked, pointedly ignoring that Count Olaf was leaning against the cabinets watching their every move.

"You were right!" Alec said with a grin. "How'd you know so much about pipes?"

Violet shrugged, sitting the P-trap on the counter and reaching for the bowl in Alec's hands. Inside the bowl, he'd found a one-eighth cup for measuring and a slotted spoon. "I like to know how things work," she said, before adding, "Alec, down in the floor – hand me the glue, the liquid starch, and the strips of fabric."

Alec, eager to help, grabbed the things in a hurry and nearly tripped in his excitement. Violet giggled and laid a gentle hand on his head before taking the things from his grasp. First she took the thin strip of fabric and tied back her hair. Violet sighed at the feeling, glad to have her head clear for thinking.

With a steady hand, she measured out two of the little cups full of the runny paste and dumped it into the bowl. Then she handed the little cup to Alec. "Your turn," she said with a kind smile. "I need two of those little cups filled with water." Alec grinned from ear to ear and stole the measuring cup from her hand, turning to the sink. "Be careful," she added, "Don't let any spill. There isn't a pipe for it to drain through."

Alec, however, proved a wonderful helper and didn't spill a single drop. With hands just as steady as Violet's, he measured two of the little cups and dumped them into the bowl. Violet thanked him and instructed him to mix the two together while she eyed the crack in the pipe.

"It will need replaced," she said, looking over her shoulder to Count Olaf. He grimaced, shooting her a dark look.

"I buy you new clothing and suddenly you want to tell me how to spend my money," he said with a scowl, eyes gleaming.

Violet turned her back to him, biting back the urge to tell him soon enough he'd have even more money which _wasn't_ his. Instead, she replied as calmly as possible, "A P-trap is inexpensive and necessary. This is just a quick-fix, but it will need replaced sooner rather than later. If you want us to keep your house clean, we'll need a working sink."

She'd only said it because she knew there was no way he could protest. If the sink broke, there was nothing they could do about the dishes. And seeing as the dishes took up such a large chunk of time, without having them to do, she and Alec would have a lot more spare time on their hands, which she knew was not something Count Olaf wanted. _"Fine,"_ he said and she was glad her back was turned, so he couldn't see her smile.

"I think it's mixed up good," Alec said, handing the bowl to Violet. For good measure, she mixed it a few more times, but he'd done an excellent job mixing it on his own.

"You're a wonderful mixer," she said warmly, then set the bowl back on the counter and measured two little cups of liquid starch, adding it into the mixture. This time she mixed and Alec, standing on the chair, watched in amazement.

"What's it doing?" he asked excitedly. "It's getting all gooey!"

Count Olaf, his interest piqued, came to loom over her shoulder and watch. Violet repressed a shudder when he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Looks like you're making a mess," he said with distaste. With each of his words, she felt his warm breath on the side of her neck. The sensation sent chill bumps crawling down her arms.

Violet shook the feeling away and kept mixing, which was growing more difficult as the mixture thickened. "It'll fill the gap," she said under her breath, trying to make sure everything was blended evenly. "When it dries, it'll act as a mild adhesive, but it won't last for more than a few weeks."

The two boys watched as she pulled the flubber-like substance from the bowl and began working it in her hands. Violet picked off a small amount and rolled it into a thin rope, pausing to fit it into the crack. With the rest, she flattened it in her palms and pinched it between her fingers before pulling her hands far apart. The substance stretched, becoming a thin strip, and she wrapped it around the pipe in the area of the crack. Once she was through with that, she did the same with the leftover piece of fabric, securing the goop and tying it tight to keep it in place.

"Let's see how it works," she said, waiting for Count Olaf to pull his hand from her shoulder. When he didn't, she turned and gave him an expectant look. Olaf eyed her for a moment, then removed his hand and took a step back. Violet found it odd, but didn't realize he'd been peeking over her shoulder to get a better look at the ring hanging around her neck and didn't realize she was ready to test her repairs.

Ducking back under the sink, Violet held the pipe in place and used the wrench to tighten. Once she could turn it no more, she gave Alec a thumbs up and he grinned, reaching over and turning on the tap. The three listened to the water run into the sink and down the drain, waiting for the drip of leaking water, but it passed through without a problem.

"We did it!" Alec said, jumping from foot to foot on the chair.

"And now you can continue doing dishes while the two of us run to the bank," Count Olaf droned, giving the boy a hard stare. Alec sobered, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"Don't worry," Violet said with a grin once she stood. "You'll get them done in no time. Just soak them in hot water for a while and work on the rest of the house. When you come back, they'll be a lot easier to clean."

Alec gave her a hopeful look. "Really?" he asked, listening to any advice she had to give with fervor. Violet nodded and washed her hands, throwing her little partner a smile over her shoulder.

"You bet," she said. "Why, you can probably get a few stacks done by tonight if you try."

But, before she could say anymore, Count Olaf's hand found her shoulder once again and was steering her from the room. "Come on," he said once they reached the rumpus room, "I'm growing impatient with you. The bank closes early on Saturdays and we've got a long drive."


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the long drive, they made it to the bank with an hour to spare before closing. Count Olaf had explained that his friend in the bank would be looking for his car outside and would be waiting for her at the entrance. This dashed most hopes Violet held that she would be able to alert Mr. Poe of trouble, but she wondered if she might be able to slip him a note or something once inside.

Count Olaf sat in the car, barely disguising his glee. Violet felt a tremor of nerves as she approached the bank, knowing she was giving him everything she had. If it worked, though, and she was able to deliver him both her cut of the Baudelaire fortune and the Quagmire sapphires, then Klaus and Sunny would be able to live peacefully. Part of her doubted this, however. Count Olaf was a greedy man and Violet knew he would still probably plot for Klaus and Sunny's fortunes after he had her own and the sapphires. All she was doing was stalling, hoping to buy enough time to alert her siblings. Even if he did keep his word, they'd never spoken about what would come of _her_ once he had the sapphires. Violet didn't doubt for moment that she would be found dead somewhere shortly after.

Inside the doors to the bank, leaning against a marble pillar, was a short, flabby man with a long scar down his cheek. He looked both silly and uncomfortable in the suit and tie he wore. Once he saw Violet he smiled, revealing several golden teeth, and stuck out his hand. Violet, trying her best not to curl away in disgust, reached out and gave his hand a small shake before recoiling.

"I am Franz," he said, turning and leading her through a second set of doors and into the main lobby. In there it was quiet and his words echoed around the large room. "I'm told you would like to withdraw and close your account. As Mr. Poe is the overseer of the Baudelaire accounts, I'll be escorting you to his office."

Violet had expected as much. There was no way Count Olaf would have allowed her to go in to talk with Mr. Poe without a chaperone. In fact, she found herself more surprised that Franz was able to find a job in the banking district with all those golden teeth. But, that was neither here nor there. Franz led her up the marble staircase to the second floor, then wound around a few corners before landing in front of a thick door. He knocked twice and the two waited through a spout of coughing, then heard Mr. Poe call, "Yes, yes, come in!"

Franz opened the door and led her inside. Upon seeing Violet, Mr. Poe erupted into another fit of coughing, his red face vibrant against his white handkerchief. "Where have you _been?"_ he demanded, then hacked a few more times.

Violet let him cough and took the chair Franz motioned her toward. The stocky man then stood against the open door, crossing his arms over his chest. "She wishes to withdraw her fortune and close her account," Franz said, eying Violet carefully to make sure she didn't do anything funny.

Mr. Poe's face grew even redder and he managed to say, without coughing even once, "Violet Baudelaire, I have managed your family's money for over thirty years!"

Violet knew she'd have to play along with Franz standing watch. She offered Mr. Poe a sad smile and ducked her eyesight away from him. "I've been having such a hard time since Quigley and Beatrice were taken from me, Mr. Poe. I'm afraid I haven't been myself. I've decided it would be best to travel abroad for a year or so and I would feel much more comfortable having my money with me, should something drastic happen." Violet looked back up at him and didn't have to fake the sorrow in her eyes at mentioning her lost loved ones. "Once I return, I'll immediately open another account with you. You've been so good to my family over the years, Mr. Poe, I wouldn't dare go to another bank."

Mr. Poe seemed rather taken aback by all this, then leaned forward with a creased brow. "Have you made contact with Klaus and Sunny?" he asked. "They've been worried sick since you disappeared. They just called yesterday asking if you'd been in – they call every Friday."

Violet's mouth tightened slightly. Under no circumstances did she want Franz in the room while they discussed her siblings. If Mr. Poe knew where they were and let it slip, things could be all over. For all she knew, Count Olaf still planned on searching for them and killing them off for their money.

"I have," she lied, trying to force a smile on her face. "They were ecstatic to hear from me. I'll be returning to Uncle Monty's soon to visit with them for a few days before I take my leave."

Mr. Poe's eyes searched her face, looking for anything out of place. When he found nothing, he sat back with a sigh and lifted the receiver on his phone. "How would you like your money?" he asked, typing a few numbers into the dial pad.

"Cash," she said, as instructed. "Small bills, preferably."

At this Mr. Poe nodded and spoke into the receiver, asking for the paperwork on Violet's account to be drawn up and the amount in the account withdrawn in small bills. "This may take a while," he said with a small smile, "And I do have much to do. Perhaps Franz could take you to the bakery next door for a pastry while we wait?"

Franz shifted uncomfortably, this not being in the plan, but Mr. Poe shot him a look. Violet suspected it was a look which said Violet was an important patron of Mulctuary Money Management and that Franz had better take her for a pastry or he might be out of a job.

"Sure," Franz said with unease, giving Violet a forced smile. Mr. Poe reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. After a moment of shuffling through the contents and a brief break for coughing, he handed Franz several small bills.

"Bring me back a blueberry scone," Mr. Poe said, then dismissed them with a nod.

Out in the corridor, Franz gave a growl of frustration. "No funny business," he said lowly. "We'll go to the bakery, get the pastries, then you'll go right back to the car until the money is ready."

Violet nodded, wondering how she might slip a note to Mr. Poe. She followed Franz back through the twisting hallways and down the marble staircase. Once outside, Franz steered her left and she saw a few doors down the bakery Mr. Poe spoke of.

" _Hey!"_ called a voice from the street. Franz turned to see who it was, but Violet didn't have to. Count Olaf was creating the distraction she needed. _"Where do you think you're going?"_ he hissed from the parked car.

Franz twisted his head from side to side, looking at Count Olaf leering lividly from the car and Violet's quickly retreating back, headed for the bakery. Out of the two, his boss was much scarier and he ran across the empty street, ducking his head to look in the window.

"Mr. Poe told us to go get pastries while we wait," he said, looking back over his shoulder and watching Violet step inside the bakery. "They're drawing up the papers now."

Count Olaf eyed the bakery. "Any problems out of her?" he asked, a feeling of unease in his stomach.

Franz shook his head. "No, sir. She lied like a pro, she's quite an actress. Said she was going abroad." Again, he looked over his shoulder. "Poe said her siblings have been calling every Friday to ask if she'd been in. Next week I'll try to listen in, see if I can get a location."

At the mention of the younger Baudelaire siblings, Olaf stiffened. "What did she have to say about her siblings looking for her?" he snarled, eyes gleaming brightly for a moment. If Violet got any funny ideas, he might just have to hurt her.

Franz grinned. "She lied. Said she already spoke with them and not to worry."

Count Olaf huffed a breath, feeling a bit deflated. He'd expected an escape attempt out of her. With narrowed eyes, he wondered what she might be doing alone in the bakery. "Go after her," he ordered. "Make sure she isn't try to pull a fast one on us."

Franz nodded and crossed the street, eyes darting inside to see Violet looking over the case of pastries. When he entered, she turned and gave him a small smile over her shoulder. Had he been better trained in the art of deduction, he would have seen the discarded pen on the counter, the smudge of ink on her fingers, and the napkin folded neatly in her hand. But, he wasn't well-trained in the art of deduction and saw none of these things.

"What would you like?" she asked politely, turning her attention back to the case. Inside there were scones, muffins, doughnuts, and several varieties of cookies. Franz stepped up and gazed at the sweets with her, smiling that golden smile to the woman behind the counter.

"I'll take a glazed doughnut," he said, then looked at Violet. "Get something for the boss, too."

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Alright," she told the woman, "We'll take a glazed doughnut, a blueberry scone, a cinnamon muffin and…" she paused, looking over the case. "And a raspberry scone."

It never hurt to be thoughtful, she supposed. If they were getting Count Olaf a pastry, they might as well get him one he liked.

Franz paid the woman and she took a few moments to pack the things into a white box, which she handed over to Violet with a smile. While Franz was stuffing the change in his pocket, Violet took the moment to open the box and wrap a napkin around each pastry. Around Mr. Poe's she wrapped the napkin in her hand, on which was scrawled a message pleading for help and explaining her situation. Franz, not the most alert man, did not notice and looked up well after Violet had the lid back on the box.

"Ready?" she asked and he nodded, the two exiting the shop and crossing the brick road to Count Olaf's car.

" _How much longer?"_ Olaf hissed through the window. Violet ignored him and popped open the door behind him, sliding into the backseat. Franz took the front seat.

"They should be done by the time we eat," Franz assured him and Violet dug out the doughnut, handing it up front toward than henchman.

"Here," she said, handing the raspberry scone up next. "For you, Count Olaf."

Violet watched as he turned his head and eyed it with suspicion. "You take a bite first," he said darkly, coming to the ridiculous idea that she somehow had time between the bakery and his car to poison his food. Violet took a bite, though, meeting his suspicious eyes in the rearview mirror and letting him clearly see she didn't start foaming at the mouth.

"Fine," he said, then snatched the scone out of her hand. "It's not strawberry, is it? I hate strawberries," he added.

"Raspberry," she muttered, trying to conceal her irritation at his childishness. "I know you're quite fond of them."

Franz was far too busy scarfing down his doughnut to catch the look Count Olaf gave her in the mirror, but she looked up just in time to catch it. The glance wasn't threatening, but still held some darkness and she quickly looked away.

The three ate without conversation, Violet merely nibbling at her muffin, anxious to get back inside the bank and give Mr. Poe his scone, complete with note. Franz was sucking on his fingers, earning disgusted looks from both Violet and Olaf. When he was finished, he looked back at her and said, "They're probably done now. You ready?"

Violet nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. While Franz left the car and made his way over to open her door, Count Olaf eyed her in the rearview mirror and she carefully avoided his gaze. Once the door was popped, she took two steps toward the bank before Count Olaf called for her to stop.

Dread lodged in her stomach as she turned back to face him, attempting a quizzical look. "Let me see the box," he said, eyes shining. Despite knowing he would be angry if he found the note, Violet did as she was told and stepped near the window, lifting the lid on the box. When she'd wrapped the napkin around the scone, she suspected Count Olaf may do something like that and so she wrapped it with the message inside facing the scone. At a single glance, nothing looked out of place.

Count Olaf seemed satisfied and he nodded, but as she pulled away he saw a smudge of ink on the corner of the napkin. His hand snapped through the window at lightning speed, snatching her wrist in his grasp. With a knowing look, he leaned through the window and tugged the napkin away from the scone with his free hand.

Violet's face faltered, fear building in her chest. Olaf's grip on her hand tightened to the point that she felt her fingers going numb.

" _Don't let her hand anything to Poe,"_ he hissed to Franz, eyes alight in fury. _"Then bring her straight out to me. Do not take your eyes off her for a second."_

At that, he shoved her arm with such force that she stumbled back into the arms of Franz, who laid two hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the bank. "You must have a death wish," he muttered as they entered the quiet building, then grew silent.

Mr. Poe was awaiting them in the lobby. He never noticed Violet's hands shaking as she handed over the box and mistook her pleading eyes as nerves from her upcoming trip. After patting her on the shoulder to reassure her that her voyage would be perfectly safe, Mr. Poe wheeled out a large cart with several canvas bags, which she was sure contained the money. With the tip of his hat, he excused himself for a business meeting, leaving her in the hands of Franz.

Count Olaf's henchman pushed the cart outside and the two once again crossed the brick street to the idling car. The look of greed on Olaf's face was unmistakable as he popped the trunk with some lever inside and left the car for the first time that morning in order to help Franz load it.

When it was all loaded, except one lone bag which was thrown in the front, Franz shut the trunk while Count Olaf guided Violet back into the backseat. Before Franz even started back across the road, Olaf was in the car and driving off without so much as a wave.

The tension in the car was undeniable. So much so that it made Violet feel suffocated, avoiding his pointed stare in the mirror.

"You can't have expected me not to at least try," she finally said, staring with intensity out through the window.

"Franz tells me your precious Klaus and Sunny call into the bank each week inquiring about you," Olaf said evenly – too evenly – and then added in a sharp tone, _"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."_

Violet did as she was told and was met with a look of pure wrath.

"He will be monitoring further calls-," he continued, "- until we have a location. I only keep my word as long as you keep yours. If you cause any more problems, I will find them and I will _slaughter_ them without a second thought. Do you understand?"

A violent shudder ran through her and she nodded, wanting nothing more than to look away from his glare.

"Tell me you understand," he ordered, taking the opportunity to glance down and make a left turn.

"I understand," she said, feeling defeat wash over her. Again, Count Olaf's eyes raised to meet hers.

"And no more little stunts," he added, giving her an expectant look.

"No more stunts," she agreed.

"Good," he replied. "Now we're going to meet _my_ banker."

When they finally arrived at Count Olaf's bank, located on the opposite side of the banking district, Violet's heart nearly stopped. Olaf dragged her from the car inside to inquire about a cart similar to the one they'd used at Mulctuary Money Management and they were greeted by Olaf's banker. At first all she could see were the black curls and warm brown eyes. The resemblance to Quigley nearly shattered her heart to pieces.

"And who is this?" the young man inquired, nodding in Violet's direction. Count Olaf gave her a dismissive wave and introduced her as Veronica, his hired help.

Both Olaf and Violet noticed the quick dart his eyes gave to her empty ring finger.

The young man, who had offered Violet a warm hand and introduced himself as Oswald Langdon, left and returned with a cart. Together the three went out and loaded the bags from the trunk, then once again entered the bank.

"My Aunt Geraldine recently died," Count Olaf was telling him at the counter, "She left everything to me."

Oswald, though, was hardly listening and kept eying Violet at every chance he got. "She was a wealthy woman," he said in a distracted tone.

Count Olaf had about enough of the boy's looks toward Violet, his grimace growing when she offered Oswald a shy smile in reply. The good thing, however, is that Violet unexpectedly became a distraction and there were no questions asked about the large sum of money being deposited into his account.

When it was all said and done, Count Olaf had become a wealthy man and he was steering her toward the door to go buy a celebratory bottle of wine.

"Wait!" said Oswald, making his way back around the counter. Both Violet and Count Olaf turned to see what he wanted, but it might have been as if Olaf wasn't even standing there. Oswald only had eyes for Violet. The boy was smiling from ear to ear and stood too near Violet for Count Olaf's comfort. "Would you like to go to dinner sometime?" he asked her, pushing his black hair away from his eyes.

Violet blushed furiously, but gave him a sad smile. "I am delighted you asked," she said carefully. "However, I work for Count Olaf in the evenings."

"Lunch, then?" he asked, hope still standing in his eyes. Violet was about to deny him again when Olaf's eyes caught a portrait hanging nearby. It was of a stout man he'd met before, with the same black hair as the boy. Around his neck was painted a thick gold chain and on his fingers were several large rings encrusted with precious gems. Near the bottom of the frame, there was a bronze placard which read: _HAMSLEY P. LANGDON._

"My dear boy," Olaf said, clapping the boy on his back and offering him a wide smile. Violet watched, confusion etched on her brow. "Veronica is dreadfully shy! Of course I would let her have an evening off to dine with you!"

Oswald beamed and turned back to Violet, who quickly morphed her face from one of confusion to one of shy anticipation. "As long as Count Olaf will allow me the time off," she said, unsure eyes darting toward Olaf, "I would be happy to have dinner with you sometime."

Count Olaf reached into his breast pocket and shuffled within it for a moment, finally pulling forth a thick card. Violet glimpsed three words printed in navy lettering: _AL FUNCOOT PRODUCTIONS._

"My card," he told the boy, handing it over to his eager hands. "The number is for my home. Call anytime and we'll arrange an evening off for dear Veronica."

After that, the three bid goodbye and Violet could feel Oswald's eyes on her until she was tucked into the car. Olaf, also aware of this, put her in the front seat so questions wouldn't arise. Once he was in the car and the two were down the road, he turned to Violet with a wicked smirk and said, "His father, Hamsley Langdon, owns the bank. I recall meeting Hamsley once at a dinner party and being annoyed at how much he gushed over his only child." As if to prove his point, Count Olaf gave a great shudder.

"Then Oswald is his heir," Violet said slowly, looking out the window to avoid the sick feeling in her stomach.

"Clever girl," Olaf replied, that same strange pride in his voice that he had when he told her the Quagmire sapphire card was well played.

Violet sighed, then turned and gave him a sad look. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, mouth twisting down at the corners.

Olaf drove for a moment, thinking. What _did_ he want her to do? The thought of her out enjoying the boy's attention wasn't something that made him happy, but his greed had won out over jealousy.

"Woo him," he finally said. "Find out what you can about his fortune. We'll figure it out from there."

This, of course, brought a great feeling of despair to Violet, as well as a rise of anger. "I'm not going to help you steal from someone else," she said, throwing him a look which rivaled his own, "I'm not like you."

Count Olaf was not happy with this answer, as you can imagine, but gave a horrible laugh that sent a chill down her spine. "If you weren't like me, you wouldn't have started those fires," he spat, eyes aflame.

Violet set her jaw, caution flying out the window. "I am _not_ like you," she said again. "I would never do something to someone noble!"

Again Olaf laughed, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel until they turned white. "Are you aware that you _killed_ people, Violet Baudelaire? Three of my troupe and two others. Yancy had betrayed me and sworn allegiance to what remnants are left of that _V.F.D."_ For a moment he was quiet, pulling over into a parking spot on the side of the road. Violet could see they were in the grocer district. "His brother was trapped in the fire, too, and he was the one who convinced Yancy to give up his life of crime."

Violet remembered that the paper mentioned a brother being killed, though she pushed the guilt she'd felt far away. Now it resurfaced, showing in the tuck of her brow. "He shouldn't have committed the crimes in the first place," she argued, though her argument sounded weak even to her own ears.

"You killed Katalin," he said. "You almost claimed my life, too. I was visiting to cast her in my upcoming play and she sent me out to buy a bottle of brandy. Of course I was furious, but when I returned to the house up in flames I didn't feel so bad. They said you could hear her screaming from the street. Her sister was there, cleaning to make a little extra money. She was eight-months pregnant and struggling to buy things she needed."

Violet's lip quivered, eyes beginning to burn. "You're _lying,"_ she spat, knowing how well he was skilled in deception.

"I'm not," he said, crooking one of those slender fingers and reaching over to brush away a lone tear that escaped her. "You're an arsonist, a murderess, and a liar, Violet Baudelaire."

"I am _not_ a liar!" she exclaimed, another tear sliding down her cheek. She didn't have it in her to deny the other two accusations.

"You are, though," he said, pulling away and turning off the car. "You are just as villainous as I am and you continue to lie to yourself about it."


	7. Chapter 7

When they returned to Count Olaf's house several hours later, the two had barely spoken to each other. Olaf had spent his time with a satisfied smirk while Violet remained quiet, a pained expression on her face. The only time she'd spoken was at the winery when Count Olaf asked her opinion on wines and she simply said she preferred red.

After Violet lugged in the several bags of party supplies, Count Olaf only grabbing the canvas bank bag from the front seat, she was excused to help Alec with the remaining chores. The party was still a few hours off and the house, naturally, was still in great disorder.

"Here," Count Olaf said, holding out a white piece of fabric toward her. Once in her hands, she saw it was the apron Delia had tied on her earlier. Violet took it without a word and left him to go find Alec, tying on the apron as she walked.

She only needed to follow the scraping noises to find him. Alec was standing tiptoe on the kitchen chair, which was once again pushed up to the sink. There were several filth-ridden plates soaking in the water and he was attempting to scrape the grime off one with a spatula.

"You've been busy," she said, forcing a small smile. After the conversation in the car, she felt miserable and wanted nothing more than to call it an early night. As always in Count Olaf's home, there was work to be done, however.

When Alec turned around, she saw his face flood with relief. "You're back," he said, "I was afraid you weren't coming back."

Violet wished terribly that she wasn't coming back and would never see Count Olaf again. But wishes had the tendency to never come true, she'd found.

"I'm back," she said, smile faltering. "What is still on our list?"

Alec paused and reached into his back pocket, pulling forth a rolled piece of parchment which she was quite familiar with. Count Olaf would leave similar lists for her and her siblings. "I've still got to clean the rumpus and living rooms and mop in here," he said. "Plus dishes."

Violet nodded. "I'll start on those," she said, leaving him to the dishes and making her way into the rumpus room. It was every bit the disaster it was that morning when they left.

After an hour, she had it clean. Well, as clean as it was going to be. There were several things the room needed. The mattresses needed moved, for one. Or if he insisted on having them in there, the table needed to go. It was just far too crowded and had a rather suffocating effect. The window seat needed reupholstered, the mattresses needed sheets, and the walls needed a good scrubbing. These were all things that would have to wait.

For the time being, she cleared what she could of the mess. Several trips were made to the kitchen with arms full of wine glasses and plates. Bottles and trash were discarded. The mattresses were raised and propped against a wall. It was all very tiring, but Violet felt it was a nice distraction from her thoughts, which were lingering on what Count Olaf had accused her of being earlier in the car.

Before she left to the living room, Violet inquired with Alec about a broom and was told it was kept in the upstairs closet. As silent as she could, which was not silent at all due to the old wood, Violet crept up the stairs. She was careful to favor the wall, not liking that the staircase was missing a banister. Mentally she added this to the list of things Count Olaf needed in order to consider the home habitable.

At the top of the stairs, she paused. She could hear the deep voice of Viktor conversing with Count Olaf, though she couldn't make out the individual words. She saw there was a small alcove - which housed a black phone - and four closed doors. Violet had a moment of panic, wishing she'd asked Alec which door was the closet. The door farthest away seemed to be the source of the voices, so she tried the first door in the narrow hall. It opened to a filthy bathroom. Violet shuddered, looking to the mold and rust in the tub, and shut the door. The bathroom alone would need a to-do list longer than her arm.

The men laughed loudly and Violet paused, wondering if Count Olaf would be angry to catch her upstairs. The thought made her step with haste and she tried the next door, opening it to find an office of sorts. There was a desk, which was completely buried in stacks upon stacks of papers. This was not what caught Violet's eye, however. Hanging on the wall, there was a newspaper clipping of the home she shared with Quigley, burned to the ground. Hanging next to it was a photo of Uncle Monty's home, taken from the foliage behind the house. In the picture there were two people and Violet stepped into the room to get a better look. With a rise of horror she realized it was herself and Sunny, out pulling weeds. Above it there were blueprints of both houses, each room labeled in a messy scrawl of black ink. She saw their names written in each bedroom, according to where they slept. The room which she shared with Quigley at Uncle Monty's was crossed out, but she could see it once read: _Violet and that boy._

Violet's eyes followed to the blueprint of her home that had burned down. Again her room had been labeled with those four words, while Beatrice's room simply read: _Kit's daughter._

Other things were pinned to the wall: photos of Violet's apartment building and a myriad of handwritten notes. Next to a ripped piece of paper which held her apartment address hung the worn ribbon she lost.

"Little girls shouldn't pry," said a voice from behind her, but Violet didn't move, her eyes catching the most painful thing of all.

Count Olaf was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. While it was unexpected to find her in his private office, he didn't mind. This way she could see the hard work he'd put into capturing her and know what lengths he would go to if he needed to do so again.

What was most unexpected, however, was Violet's face when she turned around. It was stricken with tears and torn with pain. Olaf had never seen the expression on her face before, not even after he'd murdered her past guardians. She was painful to even look at and somehow managed to create an ache in his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes shining in agony. "I was looking for a broom and then I…I," she paused, looking over her shoulder as if in miserable pain. "Never mind."

At that, she attempted to leave the room, but Count Olaf stretched an arm across the door and blocked the path. "You _what?"_

Violet looked up at him, her dark eyes shining. The corners of her lips tugged down before she spoke. "I didn't expect you to have a picture of Quigley," she said. "I was relieved. I thought I'd lost the last one in the apartment fire."

Count Olaf looked her over carefully, the redness in her cheeks only amplified by her delicate features. "You shouldn't pry," he said simply, unsure how to answer. "The broom closet is the next door down." Then he pulled his arm back and let her pass, remembering how hysterical she'd been over the photos when he went in to pull her from the fire. If he hadn't have been there, she would have perished trying to collect them.

Violet nodded and left him. Olaf strode over and eyed the wall, his gaze falling to the photo she was talking about. He'd taken it from outside the home, looking in through the dining room window. He was trying to learn the layout of the home and the photo was not necessarily of her dearest departed, more that he was merely in it. The picture focused on the hallway beyond the dining room, which led to the staircase. It was merely chance that the boy was sitting in the foreground, off to the bottom left, smiling at something off camera.

Olaf understood, however. There were many times in his life he wished for a single photo of Kit Snicket, but he'd yet to come across one. All he had were a few photos of her daughter, who had looked exactly like her. But now she was gone, too.

Violet made her way downstairs with the broom in hand and began to sweep the rumpus room. As she did, the tears dried and her face returned to its normal coloring. She knew better than to ask Count Olaf for the photo, but now that she knew it existed, some weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. In all honesty, she wasn't sure she could handle looking at the picture again without having a complete breakdown.

Once she had the rumpus room swept, she began on the living room, which needed the same amount of dedication. Making a mental list, she noted that the couch needed new padding and reupholstered, the curtains which hung over the boarded windows needed mended, and the carpet either needed to be steamed or replaced. Again, there was nothing she could do about these larger projects at the current time and so she folded the array of blankets sprawled across the floor and put them away in a trunk. There were more bottles and trash in here than the rumpus room and it took her a larger amount of time to clear them. Not wanting to move the stacks of papers on the table, should they be important and she get in trouble, Violet straightened them as best she could and took to sweeping the room. There was only so much she could do with a broom, considering the room was carpeted, but a good amount of dirt came off the floor before she called it a day.

Back in the kitchen, Alec was still working on the same stack he had been when she entered. She noticed, though, that he'd cleaned the kitchen table and was sitting the clean dishes there for a lack of anywhere else to put them. There were three large stacks of plates, a handful of bowls, and half a table of wine glasses already clean.

"You're doing a wonderful job," she said, walking over to the sink and laying a hand on his shoulder. Alec looked over at her and beamed.

"It's just like you said!" he told her with a grin. "If you soak them in hot water, it comes off a lot easier!"

Violet only offered him a smile and took the plate from his hands. "You mop the floor, I'll take over the dishes," she said and he nodded, hopping down off the chair and disappearing somewhere into the house.

The dishes were just as gross as she remembered. Whatever food had been eaten from it was now thick and hard, clinging to the plate for dear life. By the time Alec returned with the mop and bucket, she'd barely made any progress. Letting him take a turn at the sink to fill his bucket with water, Violet abandoned the plate she was on and looked around at the remaining stacks looming over them. In all honesty, she didn't think anyone could ever need so many plates and wished she had Count Olaf's keyring, so she could throw what was left into the backyard and be done with it.

Once Alec finished filling his bucket, she helped him get it to the floor and then returned to work. The water trapped in the sink was beginning to grow lukewarm and so she released the drain and emptied it. Once the water was gone, she saw with disgust that there were several chunks of food left in the sink and she swatted them down the drain with water. If they got stuck in the P-trap, well, it needed replaced anyway.

Drain plug back in place, she filled the sink with hot water and let a few more plates soak. There were several dirty wine glasses left, which she knew wouldn't be nearly as bad as the plates, so she turned her attention there. Alec finished the floor which looked no less dirty, not that it was any fault in his mopping skills, and he returned to standing on the chair by the sink. Luckily the sink was double-sided and he ran hot water on his side, too, placing a few more plates in to soak and helping her with the wine glasses. For the next two hours they worked silently, back and forth between glasses and soaking dishes, before they heard the first knock on the door.

Both paused and looked over their shoulder, then returned to work. Count Olaf could be heard creeping through the house to the front door, those keys jangling as he unlocked it. There were sounds of welcome which moved into the rumpus room until a second knock was heard and Count Olaf returned to the door, unlocking it once more.

Several times this happened – back and forth between the knocking door and the rumpus room – until the two heard Count Olaf announce, "I do believe this is everyone!"

The sound from the rumpus room could be described as a dull roar. There were several voices, all chittering at the same time, some loud as if to tell the entire room what they were saying and some hushed as if telling a grave secret.

Both became aware that someone was in the room with them and they again spun, seeing Count Olaf. _"Where is the wine?"_ he spat in a hushed whisper. Violet pointed to the floor in the corner, where she'd sat the bags when they first brought them into the house. There were seven large paper bags, each filled with three to four bottles. _"Then serve us!"_ he said, storming from the room with a furious huff.

Violet and Alec sighed, abandoning the dishes to soak a little longer. At least luck was on their side in that they just happened to have cleaned several wine glasses. "Here," she said, gathering up several glasses and placing them in his small arms. "You hand out the glasses. Keep track of how many people there are," she said, then sent him out to the rumpus room. Violet grabbed the first bag and set it atop the table, next to the stacks of clean dishes. Her eyes scanned the cabinets, wondering where a corkscrew might be. While every other utensil would be long forgotten, in this home a wine corkscrew was a thing used often. Her sight fell on a small drawer near the stove, its silver handle shining more brightly than the others, which indicated that it was used more often than the rest of the drawers. Violet crossed the room and pulled it back, revealing the corkscrew among various sharp knives.

"I need more," Alec said, entering the room and grabbing for more glasses.

"How many are out there?" Violet asked with apprehension, unwrapping the plastic seal from the first bottle and sinking the corkscrew into the cork.

"Eighteen," he said, proud that he remembered to count, and then took off with another armful of glasses.

"Eighteen," she muttered to herself, successfully removing the first cork and then moving on to the second bottle. Between Alec's third and fourth trips, Violet opened the first four bottles, then sent a wary look to the fridge. She and Olaf hadn't thought to buy any food and she hoped he didn't expect dinner. If so, there was no doubt that she'd be the one to get the blame.

"Alec," she said once he returned, "Look for anything that might be able to be used for snacks while I serve the wine." The boy nodded and she snatched up the first two bottles, weaving her way past the little butler and into the rumpus room.

What work she had spent earlier cleaning the room was already undone. The mattresses were back on the floor, littered with filthy looking people who didn't seem as if they needed more wine as they were already drunk. A few shady characters lounged on the window seat, laughing at some joke someone had just told. Count Olaf had dragged the wingback chair in from the living room and was sitting in the center of the room, a blonde woman occupying the space on his lap. At first glance, Violet had mistaken her for Kit Snicket – she bore a striking resemblance. But when she smiled, it was an ugly expression and Violet shook the idea from her head that dear Kit was also among those back from the dead.

Violet had gone unnoticed in the room and made her way to the piano where two women shared the bench, a third draped over the top of the instrument. When they saw the wine bottles in Violet's arms, they all reached their empty glasses toward her without a word and went back to the conversation about some new play.

The rest of the troupe was much the same. Aside from lingering looks from both Viktor and some other man she didn't know, no one acknowledged her except for sticking out their cups. By the time she'd finished, saving Count Olaf and his girlfriend for last, the women at the piano already needed refilled. Violet did a quick second trip around the room and then made her way back to the kitchen to discard the now empty bottles.

"There isn't much," Alec said when she entered the room. Violet wasn't sure what he meant and then realized she'd forgotten about telling him to find snacks. On the table sat a giant jar of olives, two large slabs of cheese, a bag of apples that were near going bad, a jar of peanut butter, a few small boxes of raisins, and a large tub of oats.

"It'll have to do," she said, moving quickly to grab a few plates. "Are there any toothpicks?" she asked, going to the drawer in which she found the corkscrew and selecting a knife.

While she sliced the cheese and apples, digging around the bruised bits, Alec scavenged for toothpicks. "Will these do?" he finally said, popping up from under a cabinet with a fist full of kabob sticks.

"They'll have to," Violet said, finishing what was left of the apples. "Come here, they're probably ready for more wine," she continued, beckoning him over and taking a kabob stick from him. "Put on an apple," she said, "Then cheese, then olive, then cheese." Showing him how, Violet skewered a few pieces onto the stick. "Every other should be cheese, we have more of it. Try to ration it out enough to make eighteen sticks, alright?"

Violet was feeling rather stressed, but she could see Alec was enjoying the fast pace. Grabbing the next two wine bottles, she made her way back to the rumpus room and found herself slightly jealous of Alec's ability to find any of this fun. While she refilled the cups of the troupe, she listened to Count Olaf speak and realized this was his casting party for the upcoming play he was putting on. It made her think of The Marvelous Marriage, which in turn made her shudder and spill a small amount of Viktor's wine onto his hand.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered, grabbing her apron and reaching up to wipe his wrist with it.

"It's only wine, pretty girl," he said with a sleazy smile and she nodded, trying to smile through a grimace. When she turned to the next person, she felt Viktor's hand slide up the back of her leg and she promptly side-stepped, throwing him a shocked look. Viktor and the man next to him only laughed and she quickly finished refilling the cups and returned to the kitchen. This time, however, she grabbed a clean cup and poured a glass for herself. It wasn't until after the wine was drained did she look to see how Alec was doing.

"Almost done," he told her, finishing up the last one. Violet was impressed – in the time it took her to do one round of refills, he had put together all those skewers.

"Take them out," she said, helping him put them all on a plate. It probably wasn't the most sanitary thing to let them rest on the table, but then again, Count Olaf's troupe was far from sanitary themselves and she sent Alec through the door without a single bad feeling about it.

While he was gone, Violet looked through the cabinets, pulling out a jar of cocoa and a small bottle of vanilla extract that was hidden behind a few rusted soup cans. In the fridge she found a small amount of milk and an untouched tub of butter.

By the time Alec was back with the empty plate, she had the ingredients simmering on the stove. Violet knew, of course, that it wasn't necessarily safe to allow small children near a stove unattended, but Alec seemed rather adept and so she ordered him to bring his chair over to the stove. Once he was next to her with the added height, she instructed him to keep stirring while she took more wine out. Violet opened another two bottles and went back to the rumpus room.

Things had grown hushed among the actors, all listening to Count Olaf tell the plot of his newest play. Violet hardly cared and zoned him out, intent on filling the cups and returning to the kitchen as soon as possible. There was a creeping feeling, right at the nape of her neck, that she was being carefully watched, however. As she made a second pass around the room, she noted it was the blonde woman on Count Olaf's lap who she assumed to be Ursa. The woman's eyes were narrowed, looking at Violet with great suspicion. When Violet went to refill her glass, the woman pulled her hand back a few inches, causing Violet to spill wine on the floor. "And who are you?" the woman asked, as if she'd only just seen Violet for the first time.

"Veronica," Violet muttered, pulling the dishrag that she'd been using to dry plates with earlier from where she had it hanging on the tie of her apron. "I'm the new maid."

Violet threw the towel to the ground and used her foot to clean the mess before bending and retrieving the soiled linen. Ursa appraised her with cool blue eyes before offering Violet her cup once more and allowing her to pour the wine.

Count Olaf turned his eyes to the two for just a moment, then held out his cup and continued speaking to his troupe. Violet refilled his glass and returned to the kitchen, where Alec was stirring in furious motions.

"It's boiling!" he said, a note of both panic and glee in his voice. Violet giggled and removed the wine from the remaining bags, ripping the sacks into sheets and laying them where she could find room on the table. Then she popped open the oats and went to stand next to Alec at the stove.

"Get ready to mix hard," she told him with a grin, then began pouring the oats into the mixture. The chocolate clung to the oats and started clumping, but Alec mixed like a professional. "Keep going," she urged, pouring a few more oats into the mix before putting the container back on the table. She let him continue mixing for another minute or so before taking over, making sure the mix was evenly blended before doling out spoon-size globs on the paper bags.

"What is it?" Alec asked, eying their handiwork with both suspicion and awe.

"They're called no-bakes," Violet told him, plopping the last bit she could scrape up onto the paper. "My sister Sunny taught me how to make them."

"Is she a chef?" Alec asked, leaning over to smell the cookies, a smile growing on his face.

"She wants to be when she's older," Violet said, "But, she's only nine."

Alec's eyes nearly bugged from his head. "She's only _nine_ and _she_ taught _you_ how to make them?" he asked, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his entire life.

Violet chuckled and took the pan to the sink, rinsing off what bit of the chocolate she could before putting it on top of the plates to soak. "She's quite talented in cooking," Violet told him. "She was only five years old when she started making dinner every night."

Alec seemed like he could hardly believe it. "You let her near a stove all by herself?"

Violet went to uncork another two bottles of wine. "I let _you_ near a stove by yourself, didn't I?"

"But I'm _seven,"_ he stressed, as if the additional two years made it all the more appropriate for him to be operating a stove on his own. "And I'll be eight next week!"

Violet pulled the cork from the second bottle and gave him a smile. "We'll have to do something special for your birthday," she said kindly, then went out again to pour the wine.

By the time she returned, uncomfortable with the way Ursa kept staring at her, the no-bakes were hard enough to peel off the paper and put onto a plate. "Here," she said, handing the plate to Alec. Then, thinking on it further, she took two cookies off the plate and put them on another. "Those are for us," she said, giving him a wink. "Take the cookies out and tell me how they're doing on wine." With that, he went back to the rumpus room and Violet took the opportunity to pour herself another glass of wine. At least with the snacks out of the way, things would calm down.

Once her glass was again empty, Violet pieced together two more kabob sticks. When Alec returned, the two ate standing at the counter, then went back to working on dishes. Every now and then she would return to the rumpus room to refill their cups, and she also had a couple more glasses of her own. Violet knew when to stop, however, as her cheeks had grown quite warm. In the next two hours, she and Alec accomplished quite a bit with the dishes, which were now in staggering, albeit clean, piles on the table.

Each time Violet left for the rumpus room, it was more and more quiet. By the closing of the evening, many of the troupe were passed out and sprawled across the mattresses. Violet wondered with dismay if they'd be spending the night. Ursa had been missing the last trip she made in to pour wine and Count Olaf's eyes, for the first time that evening, refused to leave Violet. When she looked at him, she could see a glassiness in his look, deep set against the ruddiness of his cheeks. He'd had too much wine.

At perhaps nine o'clock Olaf burst into the kitchen, interrupting the endless washing of dishes. "Phone call for Veronica," he said, that wicked smile in place.

Violet knew it could only be Oswald and, despite knowing Count Olaf's terrible plans, she couldn't help the flutter in her stomach. This was followed by a horrible guilt, her mind wandering to Quigley. It had not quite been a year since he left her and part of her thought that wasn't enough time.

"Come on," Count Olaf said in haste, crossing the kitchen and dragging her out by her arm. Violet struggled to keep up with his long strides, noting as they passed the rumpus room that many of the troupe had left. The others were snoring on the mattresses. In the living room, she could see the shape of Ursa on the couch, one thin arm draped over her face. Her rhythmic breathing told Violet she was asleep.

Count Olaf dragged her up the stairs to the little alcove, where the phone receiver was laying on the table. Olaf prodded her toward the phone and leaned against the alcove, his arms crossed.

Violet gave him a look for shoving her, then gently picked up the receiver and put it to her ear. "Hello?" she said, shuddering as Count Olaf put his hand over hers and drew the phone away from her ear and between them, so he could also hear.

"Hello, Veronica?" said Oswald. His voice filled the space between the two and Violet leaned toward the phone, disliking very much how close her face was resting from Count Olaf's.

"Yes, this is she," Violet said, feeling incredibly awkward with the close quarters she was holding to her ex-guardian. In order for them both to hear, their faces were nearly touching and her arm was pressed firmly to his side.

"This is Oswald," he said. "I was hoping you might like to meet me for dinner next weekend."

Violet hesitated, wondering how she might get out of it. Though going to dinner with him seemed lovely, she didn't want to see him harmed for his fortune. In those few seconds of silence, Count Olaf's free hand snatched her chin and forced her face toward him. Silent, he nodded with those flaming eyes in some unspoken threat.

"I would love to," Violet huffed, the sight of such fury taking her breath away. Count Olaf's hand relaxed around her chin and, to her utmost horror, his thumb reached up and brushed the corner of her lips. Violet's eyes shot back up to his, but his gaze was locked on her mouth, the glassy look of drunkenness back in his eyes.

"Perhaps you'll meet me next Friday at the bank, then? We close at six," Oswald said, the smile evident in his voice.

Violet was too horrified at the way Count Olaf was eying her lips to answer immediately, finally stuttering out, "Y-yes, that sounds wonderful. Count Olaf would be happy to bring me by."

The only light in the upstairs hallway was what filtered up from downstairs and Violet felt the dim light was far too intimate.

"Fantastic," Oswald told her. "I'm looking forward to it."

Olaf leaned terribly close and for a heart-stopping moment she thought he meant to kiss her. Violet's stomach twisted in a nasty way, then unclenched when he lowered his nose near her mouth and drew a deep breath. Then her stomach twisted back up, realizing he'd smelt the wine on her breath.

"Me, too," she said, not daring look away from Count Olaf as he stood back to his full height, eying her in the semi-darkness with that shining gaze. "I will see you next Friday, Oswald," she added, feeling nervous having Count Olaf look at her in such a way.

"See you next Friday, Veronica," he said, then hung up the phone.

Violet took the opportunity to hang up the receiver, then tried to step past Olaf saying, "I'm to meet him at the bank next Friday at closing."

Count Olaf side-stepped and blocked her from the stairs. "Your face is flushed," he said, eyes boring into her. "You've had too much wine. It's not polite to drink my wine without permission."

Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was being frazzled at thinking for a horrifying moment that he meant to kiss her, or perhaps, maybe, she'd just grown frustrated with the way her life lacked in giving her happiness. Whichever it was, Violet smartly snapped out, "It's not really _your_ wine when it was bought with _my_ money!"

Alec, in the kitchen unaware, heard the sharp crack and thud that followed.

Violet lay on the ground in the upstairs hall, a shuddering gasp finally heaving its way through her throat. There was a pain in her ankle and she looked down to see she'd caught a rusted nail sticking from the wall as she fell, creating a bleeding gash where there had been otherwise unmarked skin. This was nothing compared to the pain in her face. The back of Count Olaf's hand had flown out so quickly there hadn't been a chance to dodge it.

" _Get up,"_ he hissed, grabbing her roughly by the arms and standing her up. Violet could feel the blood drip down the side of her foot onto the floor and she lifted it behind her, trying to take her weight from it. "Watch your mouth next time," he demanded, giving her a sharp shake and pushing her toward the stairs. "Prepare Alec for bed, you two are done for the night."

Violet didn't look back or bother to answer him. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she didn't want to let a single one fall while he was in earshot. Some door behind her slammed and she made her way down the stairs one at a time, clinging to the wall for support. Once downstairs, she passed the many sleeping people in the first two rooms, then finally made it to the kitchen and burst into tears.

"Violet?" Alec asked, face furrowed in alarm. "Violet, what's wrong?"

It wasn't hard for him to put together that she'd been hurt. A blue bruise was already forming on the side of her face and there were drops and smudges of blood on the floor.

"Violet, you're hurt," he exclaimed, hopping down off the chair and running to her side. "Where are you bleeding?"

Violet limped to the now empty chair and took a seat, hoisting up the hem of her dress to take a look at her ankle. The cut was at least a half inch deep and every bit of three inches across. The mess of blood pouring from it made her stomach turn. She felt quite unable to speak and instead kept sobbing, the side of her face throbbing with her every heartbeat.

Alec, undeterred by her silence, found the cleanest rag he could and soaked it in cool water from the tap before returning to her side. Violet took it and held it to her ankle, another sob working its way up her throat.

Upstairs, Count Olaf stood in his room, breathing ragged. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to rid the sting in his knuckles. The girl had a smart mouth, after all, just like her brat of a brother. Anyone else in his position would have struck her, too.

Then his mind fled to her lips and the way she'd just stood there, letting him brush the corner of her mouth. Perhaps he should have been more kind. Now she probably wouldn't let him touch her again so easily.

With an irritated sigh, he left his room and took the stairs two at a time. Near the bottom, where there was more light, he could see droplets of dark liquid on the stairs. In the front hall, against the light tile, he made out that it was blood, the smears and drops creating a trail through the living and rumpus rooms into the kitchen. There he stood in the door and watched Violet, face bruised and swollen with tears, hold the bloody rag to her ankle.

"Butler, go to bed," he demanded, striding into the room. Alec gave him a defiant glance, stepping nearer Violet. Olaf offered a look of warning in reply and the boy ducked his eyesight away, then shuffled into their bedroom. The boy minded most of the time and Olaf had yet to have to strike him.

"Let me see it," Olaf said then to Violet. When she didn't acknowledge him, he took a step closer and she froze, muscles tightening. "Violet, let me _see."_

Silent, she tore the blood-stained rag from her ankle and kept her eyes glued to the floor. "You need stitches," he said evenly, watching how the blood poured from the otherwise clean wound.

" _It's fine,"_ she said under her breath, her face made of stone.

"It needs stiches, Violet," he said, taking another step near her.

"Do not _touch me,"_ she said, voice ragged in some sort of disgust. Her mask was beginning to break and he could see that delicate brow of hers beginning to tuck, tears threatening to once again spill over her cheeks. Like earlier, when he'd seen the same expression of pain on her face in his upstairs office, looking at her created some strange ache in his chest.

Olaf called it, knowing she wouldn't allow him to touch her. Part of him felt she deserved the pain, while the other part felt helpless and childish, wishing for nothing more than to grab her by the wrist just to touch her out of spite.

But, Count Olaf did nothing. He simply stood there and watched as she got the bleeding to slow. At one point he offered to get her a different rag, but she ignored him.

Once the bleeding was as slow as it was going to be, Violet took the sharpest knife she could find from the drawer and sliced the fabric of the rag into thin strips. She tied them together the best she could and wrapped it around her ankle several times, securing it finally with a tight knot.

"You'll get an infection if you keep that dirty rag on it," he prodded, trying to get her to say anything.

Violet, at first, seemed intent on ignoring him. She stood and limped to her bedroom, opening the door wide before saying with her back to him, "What would you care?"

Then she closed the door behind her. Olaf didn't move for the longest time. He stood there and listened to her crawl onto the mattress. He heard Alec try and soothe her, the best a child could. He heard her small sobs. It wasn't until both she and Alec grew quiet that he locked the door and retreated to his bedroom, not even bothering to wake Ursa up.

That ache in his chest was too distracting.


	8. Chapter 8

It was two days later, in the late afternoon, when Violet started to not feel well. Ursa was still around and had made a nasty comment about the bruise on Violet's face and so she tried her best to keep to herself, avoiding anyone outside of Alec. Count Olaf seemed content acting as if he'd never lashed out on her and so Violet played along.

The chore list was lengthy, as expected. She was out in the backyard, chopping firewood under Count Olaf's careful supervision, when she started to not feel right. Not wanting to speak with him, however, she said nothing and tried to ignore the warm feeling that had flushed over her.

The following morning, when Violet awoke, the first thing she did upon being let out of their suffocating pantry was remove the rag around her ankle. She intended to clean it the best she could, both the wrapping and the wound, then continue on her day. However, when she unwrapped her leg, she was disgusted to see yellow pus both on the wound and her bandage. The outside of the wound was so pink that it was nearly red and she had a few faint stripes starting to crawl up her leg.

Violet wasn't sure what it meant and wished she had Klaus with her. Klaus seemed to know everything. The skin around the cut was inflamed and warm to touch. Violet had never had a bad cut before and she wasn't sure if this was normal or not. All she could do was hope it was. She disposed of the rag she'd used and cut up a new one, securing it as she had the first after cleaning the wound the best she could.

Two days after that, Lucia returned to give her final fittings on her dresses. The night before, Violet had hardly been able to sleep. All she could do was toss and turn, the little pantry stifling hot. From the time she woke up, there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and at the nape of her neck.

"Is something wrong, lovely girl?" Lucia crooned, kneeling beneath her to check the length of her hem. "Your face is quite flushed."

Violet felt beyond flushed. She felt like the entire house was filled with steam. "No, I'm quite alright," she assured the seamstress. "Just nervous about my date."

That seemed to get the woman on a new tangent, providing Violet with makeup tips as her questioning eyes scanned the bruise across her cheek.

Violet's flushed expression was not brought up again, which she was thankful for. That night was another spent tossing and turning, miserable in the heat that had overtaken her body.

The next day, while Count Olaf was outside supervising Alec as he pulled weeds, Violet took the opportunity to change her bandage again. Once the bandage was removed, her nose was filled with a sour odor which smelled sickly. The lines had crept farther up her leg, nearing her knee, and had darkened. While she was changing her bandage, a sudden dizzy spell took her over and she nearly fell if not for the kitchen table to balance herself on.

Violet continued on her day as if nothing was amiss. Though a terrible heat had overtaken her, it was the day of her date with Oswald and she was looking forward to getting out of the house. That evening, after Count Olaf coated her in stage makeup to cover the bruise, Violet was attempting to put on one of her new dresses and nearly fell again.

Waiting in the living room sat Count Olaf and Alec. The boy eyed the rumpus room, making sure Violet wasn't near. He would have said something earlier, but he had to wait for that ugly Ursa to leave and run a few errands.

"Count Olaf," he said quietly, peeking again into the rumpus room. All he earned in reply was a grunt. "I think Violet needs to go see a doctor."

Olaf turned and gave the boy a quizzical look. "And what makes you say that?" he asked.

Alec turned to him, brow tucked. "She's been burning up. I can hardly stand to lay next to her in bed," he started. "She tosses and turns all night."

Count Olaf thought this over, then told his little butler, "She's just homesick." It seemed the easiest way to explain the girl was wrought with agony for her lost loved ones.

"It's not that!" Alec insisted. "She was fine the first night, but it keeps getting worse. I don't want her to die!"

At this Olaf couldn't help but snort. "No one ever died of a broken heart," he told him. "If she needs to go to the doctor, she can tell me herself."

The last sentence was muttered in irritation. Violet had not spoken a single word to him since he'd stuck her.

Speaking of the devil, as they say, they heard her footsteps coming through the rumpus room. Immediately, they both grew quiet. Violet stepped through the door, as lovely as ever. Her new dress was a deep purple and cinched in at the waist. The skirt bellowed out, falling just above her ankles. The three-quarter sleeves seemed crisp and smart.

Count Olaf didn't think she looked ill at all. Silly boy. The two bid goodbye to the young butler and shared a silent ride to the bank.

That boy, Oswald, was waiting outside the bank at six sharp. Violet left the car without a word and went to join him, taking his arm with a smile. It made Olaf furious. When they'd rounded the corner, he put the car back into drive and followed them, not taking any chances with Violet. She'd tried to pull a fast one on him last time and he wouldn't give her the opportunity ever again.

As the evening wore on, Count Olaf grew rather bored. He had a clear view of the two through the window, but nothing interesting was happening whatsoever. They had dinner and dessert, talked for a while, then stood up to leave. Hurrying, Count Olaf put the car in drive and drove around the block, back to in front of the bank.

They were just coming around the corner when Olaf saw Violet sway and clutch onto Oswald's arm. For a moment it looked as if she were about to pass out. Oswald grabbed a tight hold on her and stood her up, allowing her to lean against a light post. Olaf was halfway down the block and couldn't see well, but he could see Violet telling him something with a smile. Then Oswald closed the gap between and reached up, brushing the hair back from her face. Olaf tensed, foreseeing what was to come next. Violet looked up at him and grinned, then Oswald bent to meet her lips.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it still twisted Olaf's chest in a mess of jealousy. He should have kissed her the other night by the phone instead of striking her. Whose stupid idea was this to let her go out on dates with this boy? Why would he tell her to woo him?

Olaf was furious with himself. The whole time they walked back to the car, he stared daggers at the boy. When they reached the door, Oswald popped open the door and leaned inside. "She nearly passed out on me," he said with a cheeky grin. "Don't work her so hard!"

Always the actor, Count Olaf beamed and gave a believable laugh. "She's a hard worker," he said with a smile. "Wouldn't take a break if I made her."

The two men chortled and Oswald helped Violet into the car. With one last fleeting glance, he shut her in and made his way to his own car.

"Nice girls don't kiss on the first date," he said in a rather nasty tone, not bothering to cover his moodiness. Olaf's foul mood only grew when she didn't reply.

The car ride home, as it had been to the bank, was spent in silence. Violet was breathing in rather shallow huffs and more than once he turned, eying her next to him. Her forehead lay against the cool glass, but she appeared to be asleep.

Perhaps Alec was right. But, as he'd said earlier, if she needed a doctor, she would damn well ask him herself.

Once they were home, Violet stumbled straight in to bed and collapsed on her mattress without bothering to change clothes. The fever reached up and grabbed at her mind, dragging her into the blackness.

"Olaf," Ursa muttered the next morning, prodding him in the ribs with her elbow. "Those brats need something, they're driving me insane."

It took several more times to wake the man, but eventually he sat up and swiped at his face, as if this would wake him up. "What?" he muttered, becoming vaguely aware of the banging noises from down stairs.

" _Count Olaf, please!"_ he heard, then sat bolt up. It was the boy. Again, there was a loud banging and he could hear his butler crying. _"Please open the door!"_

"He's been banging on that damn door for a half hour," Ursa groaned, rolling back over and closing her eyes. Olaf wanted to strangle her. His eyes shot to the clock, seeing it was just after six in the morning. Outside, the sun was still struggling to rise.

Olaf grabbed a robe and threw it over his bare shoulders. As he descended the stairs, the pounding on the door grew more urgent.

"Alright, _alright,"_ he yelled, making his way through the rumpus room. Poor boy probably had to use the bathroom. But when he entered the kitchen and slid the lock on the pantry, the door flung open and Alec flew out, clinging to Count Olaf's leg.

The boy was hysterical, his face red and swollen with tears, and all Olaf could make out from his blurred words was, _"She's dead! She's dead!"_

Olaf stilled, an icy chill freezing his veins. At once, he flung the boy from clutching at his legs and peaked into the pantry.

"Violet," he muttered, earning no response. It was so dark in the room that all he could see was her feet in the light of the kitchen. _"Violet,"_ he repeated, her name wanting to stick in his throat.

Alec stood in the doorway sobbing and Olaf felt a terrible pity for the boy, who'd been afraid and locked in the room. He tried calling her name a third time, his stomach sinking to the silence that answered him. He knelt and crawled onto the small mattress. The heat near her was unimaginable and once he was able to reach her face, he felt out and let his hand meet the side of her neck. The fever scalding her skin was unbelievable. It didn't seem as if she were breathing, but he leaned an ear close to her mouth and could hear a small huff every now and then. Olaf's hands felt for her wrist and he located her pulse point, revealing a frantic – but faint – heartbeat.

"Go upstairs and grab the keys from my dresser," he ordered over his shoulder. "She's still alive, but I need to take her to the hospital _now."_

Because if she died, there went the Quagmire sapphires, the Langdon fortune, and perhaps the rest of the Baudelaire inheritance. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

He would be lying, though, to say that was the only thing that prompted his haste in getting her to medical attention. When he picked her up in his arms, he couldn't help but feel the shape of her body pressed against his and gave a deep shudder. Olaf carried her through the house to the front hall, where Alec was already waiting with the door open. The boy followed outside and opened the back door to the car, watching miserably as Count Olaf laid her inside and shut her in.

"Take care of the house," Olaf said, giving the boy a stiff pat on the head and taking the keys from him.

Alec watched, stricken with tears, as Olaf sped down the street and out of sight.


	9. Chapter 9

_The screaming wouldn't stop. On and on it went, echoing in her ears. Visions of flames passed before her, licking at her face and neck. Smoke. There was so much smoke. And that screaming._

It all lasted a lifetime. Two lifetimes. Three.

Everything was murky, unclear, and more than once she wondered if she'd died. It felt like an eternity she was there in that hellish landscape, watching the flames devour everything, subject to those agonizing screams.

Finally she woke, brow soaked in sweat as if she'd been pulled from the fire which haunted her dreams.

White room. White rooms are hardly ever pleasant places to be. When she moved her arm, a sharp pain stung her. Before she could look to see what it was, _he_ was leaned over her, eying her with greed.

"You're awake," he said, some dark relief in his tone.

Violet's vision went blurry and she realized she was crying. Quigley had been there toward the end and it pained her to know it was a dream.

After that, doctors and nurses came endlessly, poking and prodding her. She still had a fever, they said. She had blood poisoning, they said. She almost died, they said.

Violet, half-drugged, would just nod. The words didn't make much sense to her, but she kept nodding as if they needed an affirmative.

That evening, after she'd closed her heavy eyes again, Olaf stood and went to her bedside. For three days he'd been there and Ursa was fit to be tied. But, what else could he do? If he told Ursa it was Violet, she would understand that the girl couldn't be left alone, else she would disappear on him and he'd never see the Quagmire sapphires. But, if he did that, Ursa would fly into a rampage at Violet having been in the house the entire time.

Olaf watched the girl as he thought. Sweat still hung on her brow, hair clinging to her neck, but the fever had broken the evening before. The covers were thrown from her and, with one slender finger, he traced a single fading pink line from her ankle until it disappeared under her gown. Some dark part of him wanted to trace further.

They'd stitched her ankle, which was now wrapped in heavy gauze. He should have forced her to go the evening she was cut, then none of this would have ever happened. But he allowed her to be a stubborn brat and everything went to hell.

Olaf's hand moved to her chin and he turned her face to get a better look at her cheek. Good. The stage makeup was still holding firm. For once he was glad he invested in the heavier, more expensive stuff. They'd already asked enough questions about how she got the cut and why they waited so long to come to the hospital. The last thing he needed was a social worker separating them until the cause of the bruise was determined.

She would have loved that, wouldn't she? Watching him be forced out of the room so they could question her, getting to spill the beans, being rescued. Olaf's fingers tightened on her chin, but the girl didn't stir. _No._ He was ahead of the curve. That wouldn't happen. They said two more days in the hospital now that she'd awoken and they could go home. Olaf wouldn't leave her side for a single second. The moment he did, the situation would be out of his hands. Even sleep would be dangerous.

That is why, two days later, Olaf drove her back to his home while he leaned over the steering wheel, eyes wide as if in shock. It was lack of sleep. Violet, wisely, said nothing. She'd still said nothing to him and, if he weren't so damn exhausted, he would have been angrier about it than he was.

Neither of them remembered much after the car was parked. Olaf was so tired that he nearly fell asleep trying to unlock the door. Violet was on such a mess of medicines that it was a miracle she was walking straight.

Alec found them both on the couch. Violet was at one end, her legs tucked beside her, breathing calm and easy. Count Olaf was at the other end, his head draped back over the couch, legs spread wide in front of him. The little butler let them be, glad Ursa was gone for the evening. If she'd found them both asleep on the couch, she would have screamed all night and broke half of the plates he'd been working so hard to clean.

The next morning, Violet awoke alone on the couch. Aside from a stiff neck, she felt the best she had in ages. Though, she nearly jumped right out of her skin when she realized Count Olaf was sitting in the wingback chair, just staring at her.

"You should have told me you needed to go to the doctor," he chided, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. Violet met his eyes for a moment, noticing the dark circles under them. Instead of answering, she stood, wincing at the weight on her ankle. Count Olaf balled his hands into fists, digging them into the arms of the chair. "I do not enjoy the silent treatment, Violet Baudelaire. One more moment of it and you'll be right back in that hospital."

Violet hated how he insisted on calling her by her full name. It wasn't as though she didn't like her name, only that when he spoke it, the name rolled off his tongue in an aristocratic fashion. It was how her parents' friends would have said her name and the thought of Count Olaf in the same league as those wonderful people made her want to cringe. When he spoke her name, it sounded like a lovely song, only sung by a terrible person.

"I didn't realize it was that serious," she said, clearing her throat after. Violet hadn't spoken in many days and her voice carried a lot of gravel from lack of use.

Count Olaf stared at her, his brow rising eventually. "You had a temperature of one-hundred-and-four," he said matter-of-factly. "If you didn't realize it was serious, you're not half as clever as I thought you were."

Violet didn't miss the backhanded compliment, but she didn't comment on it either. Instead, sensing the conversation was far from over, she reclaimed her spot on the sofa. "I meant that I knew it was infected, but I didn't realize how serious an infection could be. I had never been cut seriously before, I thought it would clear up on its own."

Count Olaf again stared at her, like she was the most idiotic person in the world. Anger seeped into her stomach and she clenched her fists to match his, though reigned back her tongue which wanted nothing more than to insult him.

"I suppose you know now," he said simply, releasing his fists and relaxing back into the chair. "Before you begin your work for the day, we need to discuss the sapphires."

Though she didn't realize it, her hand went to her neck and she ran the ring hanging there between her thumb and finger. "What about them?" she asked, her eyes far away.

Count Olaf, however, was extremely aware that she was fiddling with the ring. Someone in the back of his mind, he wondered how much it was worth.

"Well, their _location,_ for starters," he said, pursing his lips as he pulled his eyes from the ring. Violet lost the far-off look and focused intently on him then.

"Hidden on Mount Fraught," she said, careful of her wording.

"Mount Fraught?" he asked, brow creasing as if the name were familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"It's the highest peak of the Mortmain Mountains," she said simply.

" _And where on Mount Fraught are they hidden?"_ he pressed, aware that she had the same powerful look as she did the night she mentioned the sapphires, as if this were a game.

Violet took a moment to straighten out the skirt of her dress, flattening an imaginary crease. "In the sugar bowl," she said, as lightly as if discussing the weather.

Count Olaf's stomach tightened, wondering how she could speak of such things as if they were worthless. His breath blew out in a hiss. _"The sugar bowl was lost,"_ he said, unbelieving.

She shook her head and offered him a sad smile. "Quigley recovered it from the Stricken Stream before it reached the sea," she said, then added in a quiet voice, "He never told me what else was in there, only that he recovered it and the sapphires, then hid them together on Mount Fraught before reuniting with us."

Violet wasn't sure she wanted to know what else was in the sugar bowl. Things that caused misery and woe were best kept sealed up. She could see in a glance that Count Olaf seemed torn, his eyes cast to some faraway place, yet burning with greed. _"Where did he hide the sugar bowl on Mount Fraught?"_ he asked, desire thick in his voice.

"I'm not telling you," she said simply and Count Olaf knew, in that moment, he'd been power played again.

" _What?"_ he demanded, fury in his tone.

"I'll take you there," she said, "But I won't tell you."

Count Olaf sized her up, crossing his long arms over his chest again. "You're buying time," he accused, mentally taking back his earlier statement that she wasn't as clever as he thought. Violet only offered him an apologetic smile. It made him want to beat the answers out of her, but in her fragile state he might go too far and kill her. If she were dead, he would never know the answers. _"Go,"_ he hissed, furious for letting her have an upper hand, the clever girl.

Violet didn't need to be told twice. She stood immediately and took her exit to the kitchen, where Alec was already working at the sink. When he heard her approach, he looked over his shoulder and gave the biggest smile she'd ever seen.

"You're awake!" he said, then jumped off the chair and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist in a tight hug. "I missed you!"

Violet giggled and patted him on the head. "You've got quite a lot done while I was gone," she said with a smile, looking around the room. The table was overrun with clean dishes and the dirtied plates were whittled down to two piles.

"Count Olaf wasn't here to leave lists, so I worked on the dishes the whole time. I've almost got them done!"

"That's wonderful!" she said, glad the worst of the mess was behind them. Alec let her go and beamed, hopping from foot to foot.

"I'm eight today!" he burst, as if it was the most important news in the entire world.

Violet smiled, though the feeling in her heart grew heavy. Poor Alec, working like mad on his birthday. She honestly felt sorry for the little butler. "Well, then, happy birthday," she said kindly. "I have nothing to give you, but how about you sit down and rest while I finish the dishes?"

Alec laughed and went back to his chair near the sink, climbing atop. "I'd rather do the dishes with you," he said and Violet's heart nearly shattered. She went to the sink and pushed up her sleeves, giving him another pat on the head.

"I think I can do that," she said, tying back her hair with the same piece of her old dress that she'd used since she fixed the sink.

The two of them spent the entire morning finishing the dishes. When they were done, the evidence of their hard work gleamed from the kitchen table. "It feels good to accomplish something, doesn't it?" she asked and he nodded.

But, the piles presented their new problem. They couldn't stay on the kitchen table and the cabinets were filthy. One by one, they opened the cupboards to find nothing but filth. The cabinet liners were crusted and peeling, there were rat droppings in a few, and dirt was caked in the corners. Whatever feeling of accomplishment they had was soon diminished.

"I suppose we should start with pulling the things from the cabinets," she said, expression cemented in dismay. The two pulled the rusted cans, dusty jars, and anything else they found from the cabinets, making a stack in a corner of the room that wouldn't be disturbed.

"What now?" Alec asked, standing on the counter and peeling back a bit of the shelf liner. At one point, it was adhered to the shelf, but it had long since lost the majority of its stickiness. "Hey Violet, do we need this stuff? It'll make it easier if we just peel it away."

Violet stuck her hand in a different cabinet and pulled back the liner. Small spots were still clinging, but it quickly lifted with enough force. "I suppose not," she said, removing the entire piece. Underneath there was a beautiful oak wood, clean of any grime. "Shelf liner is only to protect the shelves. It's not necessary." Going to the shelf under it, she peeled back the liner there and revealed even more beautiful wood. "Alec," she said, beaming, "You're brilliant. Get all the liners off, it'll make this so much easier!"

Alec giggled, eyes alight, and walked along the counter to retrieve the shelf liners as Violet ducked and did the same on the bottom. Once they were done, they had a pile of disgusting liners and several naked shelves.

"Okay, now what?" Alec said, excitement in his tone. Violet couldn't help but laugh – his eagerness was enough to make even the dullest tasks enjoyable.

She looked around the room, grabbing a few rags from where they lay on the counter. "Go get the mop bucket," she told him, then turned to the sink. There was a single bar of soap there, peachy pink and half used away. It would have to do.

Alec was gone and back in a flash, the metal bucket tucked in his fists. "Got it!" he said, breathless.

Violet filled the bucket with warm water, then set it on the counter. Alec climbed back up as he had before. "We're going to have to make do with this," she said, turning and grabbing the bar of soap. Showing him what to do, she soaked her rag in the water, then rubbed the bar over it several times, creating a lather. "If we run out, we'll have to check the bathroom upstairs," she said, a note of disgust in her voice. She hated going in the bathroom and knew it would need dozens of bars of soap to clean.

Alec nodded and the two set to work. They'd nearly finished three cabinets when Count Olaf entered the kitchen.

"Maid," he said and they both turned to look at him. "Come. We're going to the market."

Violet gave Alec a reassuring smile. "You've got this," she said kindly. "Just keep at it and we'll have somewhere to put the dishes."

Alec nodded and she gave him a wink before dumping her rag back in the bucket and turning to leave with Count Olaf.

In the car, once they were down the road, he looked at her through the rearview mirror and said, "I've been doing research on the Mortmain Mountains all morning. We won't be able to make the climb for another month, once summer arrives and the conditions on the mountain clear."

Violet nodded, then looked out the window. Good – another month. That gave her more time. Maybe during the next month, she could concoct a plan to reach her siblings.

Once at the market, Violet realized Count Olaf seemed out of place among the smiling vendors, though seemed to be in a lighter mood and was buying anything his heart desired. Violet idly wondered if he'd never had much money before. Despite his despicable manner of attaining her fortune, the thought made her heart constrict. What if he'd grown up poor? Was his first shopping spree really to the market in order to buy food? Violet remembered the time, so many years ago, when she and her siblings had to make dinner for his theatre troupe. It had turned out a disaster, unfortunately, Count Olaf not happy with the fact that they'd made puttanesca. But before the evening turned sour, he'd sent them to the local market with only a small amount of money to buy groceries. At the time, they thought he was being frugal, but perhaps he just didn't have the money to spend. For some ridiculous reason, the thought made Violet feel bad for having had a privileged childhood. Well, at least until her parents died.

Walking next to him, Violet eyed a stall with many fruits and vegetables. Count Olaf had, thankfully, offered her a small amount of money to buy anything she might need. It came as a great surprise, that he would offer her anything other than what was needed to keep her alive, but she wondered if holding the sapphires over his head had Count Olaf treating her a little better. The money was a great relief to Violet, whose first purchase was a toothbrush. Brushing her teeth with her finger wasn't as refreshing as with a proper toothbrush. No matter how small it was, the act of generosity from Count Olaf surprised her and she wasn't sure how it made her feel. Perhaps if he'd had more money when they came into his guardianship, he wouldn't have been so wicked toward them. It didn't excuse his behavior – nothing ever would – but Violet again couldn't help feeling some amount of sympathy for the man.

"Hold on," she told him, making her way to the fruit stand. There, between the grapes and peaches, sat a large pile of plump raspberries. Violet purchased a small bag and returned to Count Olaf, opening the top and revealing the berries. It was the only thing she knew he liked and, when she offered him the bag after popping one into her own mouth, the act of kindness was not missed by him.

"You're up to something," he said suspiciously, though reached inside and took a few berries, popping them into his mouth as she had done.

Violet merely shrugged and continued her trek down the stalls, bag of raspberries in hand. "It's another month until we can ascend the mountain," she said, eying a stall which sold dishrags. "It will be less miserable if we're at least agreeable with each other."

Count Olaf said nothing and waited while she bought a new stock of rags. Her selflessness astonished him. All she'd bought for herself was a toothbrush and a hair brush. She'd mentioned that it was the young butler's birthday and bought supplies to make a cake, as well as a small puzzle book and box of pencils for his gift. Other than that, she only bought supplies for Olaf's home: a scrub brush, two jugs of bleach, a package of bar soap, a bottle of liquid soap, sponges, shelf liner, several yards of various fabrics, a new P-trap, and now dishrags. Olaf noted with slight amusement that the girl was quite adept at haggling and, looking at what she'd managed to buy, had gotten quite a load for the small amount he'd given her. However, when she returned with the rags, she gave him back two small coins, apparently all that was left. Perhaps she could get a gumball, but that was about it. Olaf took the coins and slid them into his pocket, continuing their stroll through the stalls.

By the time they were leaving, they were both weighed down with bags. On the way out, though, they passed a different fabric stall, one with various supplies blowing in the breeze. There were not only hundreds of fabrics, but various yarns and threads of many colors and thicknesses. There were buttons beyond reason. Olaf never realized there were so many sizes of needles to choose from. But hanging all along the tent were a myriad of ribbons, cut at different lengths and widths, every color imaginable. His eyes went to Violet, then to the piece of fabric which held her hair back at current. She was looking at the ribbons with longing, but said nothing.

"Come here," he said, walking to the stall. "I can't go about town while you've got that rag in your hair. They'll think I can't afford decent help."

The reason, of course, was not one that Olaf was willing to admit. After watching her spend most of that small amount of money he'd given her on himself and the little butler, he knew she didn't have enough for a new ribbon. Olaf once claimed, when he first captured her, that he knew the Baudelaire's better than anyone else alive and that was the truth. Ever since Violet entered his guardianship, just a child, she insisted on tying her hair back in a ribbon.

Olaf selected a plain black ribbon, not daring be more generous than that. "It will match no matter what you wear," he told her after paying, taking the newly cut ribbon and walking around to her back. Violet stiffened, wanting to move but finding herself quite unable. Olaf removed the fabric which secured her hair, letting both the hair and makeshift ribbon flutter free. Then, with surprisingly gentle hands, he brushed her hair back with his fingers and she felt the small tugs of a braid being performed. "There," he said, securing the bottom of the braid with the ribbon. "Much better, you look far more distinguished and appropriate for my company."

Violet was stunned into silence. It was the first time her hair had been braided since her mother was alive. "Thank you," she said softly, the two reentering the crowd and heading for the exit. "Where did you learn how to braid?"

She remembered trying to teach Klaus on their mother's hair when they were children, but he'd been miserable at it, as was their father. It seemed a simple braid was not something most men could master.

"I had a sister," Count Olaf told her, not looking her way. Violet noticed the _had_ and thought it impolite to ask. The two continued in silence, as they often did, and before long were back to his home.

Once the bags were carried in, the late afternoon sun was lost behind boarded windows. Inside, Alec was positively beaming, having scrubbed every last cabinet. Violet inspected them, finding not a single speck of dirt in one of the corners. She pulled out the new shelf liner, a simple blue color, and showed him how to install it. Then she left him to it while she put away the groceries.

When Violet finished, she eyed the young boy, smiling at how excited he was at the simple task of installing shelf liner. Not wanting him to know what she was doing, she quietly removed the ingredients for his cake and a large bowl. If there was one recipe she could repeat from memory, it was Uncle Monty's coconut cream cake. Though Sunny made it better, she'd still beaten it into memory in case she would ever need it. One never knew when one would need a good coconut cream cake.

"What are you making for dinner?" Alec asked, nearing the halfway mark with the cabinets.

"Vegetable soup," she said with a grin, chopping the vegetables. The thing with soup is that it's quite hard to do wrong. All you had to do was add various things to water and heat it to a boil. Violet's soups were no world-renowned recipes, but they were decent tasting and didn't require much effort.

The cake had already been put into the oven and, when it was nearing completion, she shooed Alec from the room. "Go and straighten up the rumpus and living rooms," she said, creating a guise so she could let the cake cool and ice it.

"But, I'm not finished with the liners!" he argued with a pout.

"Yes," Violet said, stirring the soup which was beginning to boil, "But Count Olaf will probably put us to bed right after dinner and we must make sure the house is picked up properly before he does."

Alec groaned, but did as he was told. Just in time, too. Another minute and the cake would have burned. Violet sat it atop the stove and gave the soup another few stirs before lowering the heat to allow their dinner to simmer.

Grabbing more ingredients and another new bowl, Violet whipped together the icing. The cake was still far too warm by the time she finished mixing, so she retrieved his present from where she hid it in a drawer and carefully put it into one of the leftover brown paper bags from their groceries.

 _Oh!_ She'd forgotten candles! Violet felt absolutely terrible and went to open a drawer, but remembered they'd cleared everything out from the cabinets. The counter was crowded on one end with the things they took from the drawers, but she found no candles there. Determined, she checked the soup one last time and left the kitchen. Alec was picking up the rumpus room and gave her a questioning look, but she continued through the house and up the stairs. At Count Olaf's closed office door, she paused to knock.

"Yes?" he said, sounding distracted. Violet cracked open the door and peeked her head inside. Count Olaf was leaned back in the wooden desk chair, a book on mountainous regions open in his lap.

"Do you have any candles?" she asked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her so Alec wouldn't hear. Olaf looked up, his first thought being that he was alone in the room with her. It took several long seconds for his dark thoughts to clear long enough to think of candles.

"Try my bedside table," he said dismissively, then went back to his book. He didn't hear her move and looked back up to see an uncomfortable expression on her face. "There's no monsters in there, I promise," he said, though the thought of her in his room made a shudder run down his spine.

Violet nodded and excused herself, making her way into Count Olaf's bedroom for the first time. She was unsurprised to find the bed unmade and clothes of all sorts dumped on the floor. She stepped over a pair of lace undergarments with a look of distaste and hoped they were Ursa's and not Count Olaf's. The wine bottles in his floor put the ones in her old apartment to shame. Violet couldn't take a step without at least one bottle rolling off somewhere.

The bedside table was filthy, as expected. Several wine glasses were collecting dust and an assortment of candy wrappers were threatening to jump to the floor. Violet thought of the hole in his floor and how she could see a candy wrapper laying under his bed.

The drawer, at first, didn't want to budge, but she finally managed to get it open. Inside, there were notes written in a messy scrawl, a variety of ticket stubs to numerous plays, and two candles. One was long and stout, the other short and thin. Violet chose the latter and left his room, but not before sending more bottles scattering.

Again, however, she paused at the office and stuck her head in. "I'll need something to light it," she said.

Count Olaf, without looking up from his book, opened the desk drawer next to him and dug around, producing a box of matches. He held it out behind him for a moment, then - as if realizing what he was doing - drew his hand back and turned to her with a look as if she was trying to trick him. "Perhaps not," he said, more to himself than her. "I'll be down in a moment."

Violet knew he was right not to trust her. If she and Alec weren't locked in the house with him, she would have taken the opportunity to burn it down without a second thought. Instead of arguing, she made her way downstairs and this time passed Alec in the living. Once in the kitchen, she found the cake cool enough to ice and the soup fully cooked.

The clean plates on the table also created another problem – they had nowhere to eat. Checking to see which cabinets had new shelf liner, Violet put the dishes away, saving three small plates and three bowls. By the time she had dinner on the table, the boys had joined her.

The cake was hidden behind a large pot and, after they finished their soup, proved a great surprise for Alec. He let out a loud giggle, nearly a shriek, and Count Olaf grimaced at the noise. Violet put the candle in the cake and looked to Count Olaf expectantly. As promised, he pulled the book of matches from his pocket and struck one, lighting the candle.

He found that Violet had a lovely voice. She sung birthday wishes to the young boy while Olaf watched the scene unfold. After the little butler blew out his candle, Violet retrieved a brown paper bag and gave it to him. Olaf had never seen a child so excited over a stupid book of puzzles, but the child clung to Violet with a smile as bright as ever. Together the three ate their cake.

The only thing Olaf had ever found more enjoyable was a fresh raspberry.


	10. Chapter 10

Despite being in the company of Count Olaf, Alec's birthday celebration was a rather enjoyable experience. Until, of course, when they were just finishing up their slices of cake, a loud rapping noise came from the front door.

Count Olaf stood with a sigh, his stomach so full with delicious cake that he felt ill, and went to the door. In the kitchen, Alec and Violet sat in silence, wondering who it could be so late in the evening. When he returned, the two could see the blonde head of Ursa trailing behind Count Olaf, who entered and reclaimed his seat at the table. Violet, not wanting to be impolite, offered the woman a stiff smile.

"Where is _my_ cake?" Ursa asked with a pout. Expressionless, she could be considered an attractive woman. But anytime she expressed an emotion, it morphed her face into an ugly mask.

"We have a piece left," Violet said in an instant, standing and making her way to the remains of the cake, which were sitting atop the counter. "Sit down and I'll get you a piece."

Violet didn't know the woman well and, although they had spoken briefly during the party, felt a good first impression might help her miserable circumstances. Alec didn't seem to care for the woman at all, but she thought perhaps Ursa wasn't so awful once you got to know her.

It didn't seem that was the case at all, however. Ursa took Violet's chair, scrunching her nose up at Alec, as if sitting next to him pained her. When Violet returned with the cake, she took one bite then promptly spit it out onto the table, tongue sticking out as if she'd eaten something from the garbage.

" _Yeuch,"_ she exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me it was coconut?" she said, turning an accusing glare toward Violet. "I _hate_ coconut. Bring me wine this instant to get this disgusting taste from my mouth!"

Violet was shocked at the woman's rudeness for a moment and then, without looking at either Alec or Count Olaf, went to retrieve a wine glass. On the counter was a bottle Count Olaf had recently opened and she hurriedly filled the glass and took it back to the woman.

"Much better," Ursa said, pausing to take a large gulp as if her life depended on it. Again she looked at the cake with an expression of disgust – which was all the uglier on her face – and gave a dramatic shudder.

" _Girl,"_ said in a nasty tone. "Get this thing out of my sight. Then help me carry in the bags from my car. I'm exhausted from my trip and can hardly move a muscle."

Violet nodded, trying to quell the irritation from showing on her face. Perhaps Alec was right all along – what an _unpleasant_ woman. The woman stood and flicked her hair back, causing Violet to wonder how on earth she ever mistook her for Kit. The initial similarities were disappearing with each sneer the woman gave and it almost seemed an insult to Kit that Violet had once thought the two similar.

Ursa stood and took the keys from Count Olaf, then led the way through the house. The two walked outside, where the sun had set and the only light was from the flickering bulb of the porch. Violet added light bulbs to her mental checklist as she followed the woman to an older car. In the dim light it was hard to tell, but Violet thought it might be painted purple or blue.

"Here," the woman said, popping the trunk. Inside, Violet was dismayed to see several suitcases. When she tried to lift the first, she found it heavy enough to warrant both hands. "Hurry, I haven't got all day," Ursa spat, clacking an impatient foot against the sidewalk.

"Where am I taking it?" Violet said with a great amount of exertion, heaving the bag over the edge of the trunk and letting the weight fall. It nearly toppled her over, but she managed to stay upright. When she took a step, the pain in her ankle seared.

"Upstairs to the bedroom," Ursa ordered, not bothering to grab a bag or otherwise help. When Violet reached the door, she looked over her shoulder to see the woman leering at her from the car. Apparently she was only supervising.

" _What a dreadful person,"_ she said under her breath.

"Isn't she?" said a voice from the living room and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Count Olaf was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"Sorry," Violet muttered quickly, wanting to kick herself. "I didn't mean it like that."

Count Olaf shrugged and then took up the stairs before she started on them. "I agree," he said over his shoulder. "The thing with dreadful people is that they never seem to go away."

Violet found this quite true, thinking of the man she was following up the stairs. No matter how safe they thought they were, she and her siblings could never get him to go away. This thought, of course, went unvoiced.

"I put Alec in bed," he said in a bored tone, reaching the top of his stairs. "Come to my office when you've finished and I'll see you to your room."

This was a very polite way of saying he would lock her in a tiny room not fit for a single person, let alone two, but this thought also went unvoiced. Instead, upon reaching the top stair, lugging the monstrous suitcase behind her, Violet nodded and continued to his bedroom. Count Olaf lingered in the door to his office, seeing the image of Violet in his bedroom through the crack in the door. It was an image he enjoyed quite a bit, though he tore himself from it before he was accused of spying and went to his research.

It took another four trips for Violet to get everything out of the trunk. On the fourth trip, however, Ursa stopped her near the front door and told her to sit down the luggage.

"I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot," Ursa said, giving a smile that resembled more of a grimace. Violet wondered if she was being genuine and that's just how she smiled. Perhaps she and Alec were wrong after all. Everyone had bad days. "We should chat for a moment, you know, among girls. Being surrounded by idiotic men all the time can make us grouchy."

Violet set the suitcase down near her foot, then offered the woman a smile.

" _My,"_ Ursa said, reaching out for the ring which hung around Violet's neck. "What a gorgeous pendant. It looks expensive."

Violet stiffened and then relaxed as the woman pulled her hand away. "It was my engagement ring," she told her. "But, he perished in a fire before we were wed."

Something gleamed in the woman's eye, but it was gone in a flash. "That's horrible," she said. "It's very hard to lose those we love. My sister was lost in a terrible accident."

Violet looked down at her hands, trying to imagine life without Sunny. No matter how many other deaths she was plagued by, if she lost either of her siblings it would create an unfixable hole in her heart after all they'd gone through. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "It must have been awful, I can't imagine."

Ursa gave a chuckle and Violet looked up, wondering who would laugh during such a solemn conversation. The woman dug into her cleavage and pulled forth a strange looking pendant. "I keep my memories around my neck, too," she said sweetly – _too_ sweetly. "Our parents had them crafted for us. The only other in the world is buried with what remains of my dear sister."

The pendant was odd. It was shaped like an hourglass, though there was no sand to be seen. Around the edges glittered small red gems which caught the light in peculiar ways. Engraved were little words, so tiny Violet was having a hard time making them out.

"Can you read the words?" Ursa asked her, Violet finding her voice suddenly relaxing. She did not notice the way the woman began to swing the pendant slightly from side to side.

"No," Violet said, trying to focus her eyes on the small words but unable to due to the way the light cast from the red gems. "What does it say?"

"Keep looking," Ursa urged. "It's a beautiful passage."

Violet never managed to figure out what the pendant had engraved in it. For several minutes she tried, being lulled by Ursa's words of encouragement. Before long a great fog had covered her mind and her eyes unfocused.

Had she inquired further, Violet might have realized that Ursa's lost sister was both an optometrist and a hypnotist, in addition to being someone Violet had already met. But, she didn't inquire further and so, instead of finding out Ursa's sister was actually the nefarious Dr. Georgina Orwell, she fell right into Ursa's trap.

"You look quite tired, Veronica," the woman said in a soft tone. "Tell me, what is your real name?"

"Violet Baudelaire," she answered, feeling quite strange, as if her brain were filled with helium and floating far away.

"I _knew it,"_ the woman hissed. Her face had gone quite red, twisted in jealousy and rage, but this was missed by Violet who was staring off into the darkness in the yard. _"Did you sleep with him?"_ Ursa demanded.

Violet's brow tucked and Ursa nearly struck her across the face. "With whom?" she asked, tone light and airy.

" _With Olaf!"_ Ursa whispered under her breath, making sure to close the front door so they wouldn't be overheard.

"No," Violet answered. Ursa moved to stand in front of her and felt a sense of accomplishment in seeing the girl's pupils wide and open to suggestion.

"Do you want to?" Ursa asked, again ready to strike her should the answer not be one she wanted to hear.

"No," Violet repeated. The relief was instant on Ursa's face. Perhaps she'd overreacted. It was just that Olaf went after the girl with such ferocity that she thought they might have been lovers before.

"Why are you here?" Ursa asked next. If it was really as Olaf told it, surely the girl would have tried to escape. The knowledge of him hiding Violet's identity from her made her blood boil.

"I'm going to take him to the Quagmire sapphires," Violet droned, like she was on the edge of sleep.

This perked Ursa up, who leaned closer toward the girl's face. "Why would you do a thing like that?" she cooed, wanting to get to the bottom of this and get the girl out of her hair. The sooner Violet Baudelaire was dead, the sooner she could breathe easy again. Olaf's lingering looks toward the girl bordered on perverse.

"So he won't kill Klaus and Sunny," she answered, eyes unmoving.

"Your siblings," Ursa stated, to which the girl nodded. "Listen, carefully, Violet Baudelaire. Are you listening?" Again, the girl nodded. _"Good,"_ she continued. "You're going to do everything you're told to do, without question. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed, Violet nodded. Ursa knew, judging by the girl's lax pupils, that she was in _deep,_ as they say in the world of hypnotism, and wide open for suggestion. "Tell me what you're going to do," Ursa urged, greed thick in her tone.

"I'm going to do everything I'm told," Violet repeated, "Without question."

"Good," Ursa said again. "You're not going to remember any of this conversation, are you Violet?"

The girl shook her head, but repeated it for the woman when she demanded a vocal declaration.

"No, you won't remember a thing. When you wake up, you're going to have an urge. An absolutely terrible urge. You're going to want to do nothing more than to lead Olaf to the sapphires," Ursa told her, pausing for a moment to allow it to sink in. "You _want_ to help him, don't you Violet?"

Violet nodded, muttering, "I want to help him."

Ursa thought this was almost too easy. She'd expected a harder fight out of the infamous Violet Baudelaire, who Olaf claimed time and time again was too clever for her own good. But, she wasn't cleverer than Ursa, was she?

"Yes, you want to help him," Ursa repeated. "You know there's nothing your brother and sister can do. You know there's no way to reach out to them for help, so you won't even try, will you?" She paused while the girl shook her head slowly. "That's right. In fact, you don't _want_ to hear from them. You don't want them to know you're helping Count Olaf because then they would hate you, wouldn't they?"

Violet nodded, muttering sleepily, "They would hate me."

Ursa was feeling quite proud of herself. "You're not going to try and escape, are you? You know Olaf will kill you if you try and murder your siblings when he finds them. That scares you, doesn't it, Violet? That scares you so bad that you won't dare try to escape."

Violet agreed with her. Ursa was nearly done with her, but wanted to add the cherry on top and make the inevitable the least messy as possible.

"Listen very carefully, Violet. Once you've taken him to the sapphires, you're going to have another urge. You'll find you can't fight it off. Once you return, you're going to walk right up to the top of those stairs in there. And once you're at the top of those stairs, you're going to turn around and fall right back down them, aren't you?"

Violet nodded slowly and Ursa grinned, imagining the younger girl dead in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell. _That_ would teach Olaf to let his eyes wander.

"Good. Now _wake up."_

Violet's eyes snapped to attention, looking worriedly from left to right.

"Veronica," Ursa said, feigning an expression of worry which looked painful. "Are you alright? You began to sway."

Violet raised a hand to her forehead, her mind feeling a bit foggy. Ursa watched the girl's brow tuck in confusion. "Yes, I'm quite alright," Violet said. "I must just not be feeling as well as I thought."

"Come, then, let's get my last bag upstairs and you can lay down."

Violet took the woman's bag and followed her up the stairs, the heavy case giving a loud _thunk_ on each step. Once she struggled through Count Olaf's bedroom and put it with the others, she turned to Ursa with an awkward smile. "Well, if that's all you need," she said.

Ursa opened her mouth to dismiss the girl, but Olaf yelled from the next room, "Veronica! Come here!" She watched the expression on the girl's face with dismay and realized her mistake. Violet's eyes clouded for a moment, then she left the room without a word or look toward the woman, as if in a trance.

"Shut the door," she heard him say a moment later and her face grew red when she heard the heavy door click shut. Ursa had messed up again. This happened in the early days, when Georgina and she were little, just practicing hypnotism on the neighborhood kids. The two thought it would be good sport to have a slave and, once their little friend Mary was under their suggestion, instructed her to do everything she was told. It was in the wording and Ursa was furious with herself for making the same mistake twice. Little Mary _did_ do everything they told her to do. But, she also did everything _anyone_ told her to do.

Sick with jealousy, Ursa crept out into the hall and pressed her ear to the door. The two inside were discussing some mountain, talking in hushed voices. Oh, she bet Olaf just loved that, having the girl locked away with him in some room while they plotted. Furious with herself, she went back to the bedroom and flung herself on the bed, face screwed up in wrath. Well, she would just have to deal with it for the time being. His fun would be all over once they retrieved the sapphires and his precious Violet took a tumble down the stairs.

It was the only thought that calmed her enough to fall asleep, trying to ignore the fact that the two in the next room had been in there for quite some time.

Olaf was… _surprised,_ to say in the least. He'd called Violet in to show her an alternate route that they may be able to take earlier, as it was not as prone to harsh conditions as the rest of Mount Fraught. Now she was spread out across the floor on her stomach, brow tucked as she poured over the map.

"We could start here," she was saying, voice quiet, "If we did that, we could follow the Stricken Stream until here." Olaf looked to see her finger now rested on a valley.

Her plans were largely going unheard to him. Olaf was just astonished that she was so eager to help. It contradicted everything and suspicion was creeping into his mind with each word she spoke.

"Violet," he said in a hushed tone, knowing how voices carried in the house and not wanting Ursa to overhear. "I thought you said you meant to buy time. You're far too eager to help. Whatever you're up to, you're a terrible actress."

He watched as she looked up, a strange expression on her face as if she were trying to figure out for herself exactly why she was helping. "I'm not up to anything," she said slowly, brow tucked in thought. "I just want to help."

" _Why?"_

The poor girl looked confused and shrugged. "I just do. I want to do whatever I can."

Perhaps she was bored with menial housework. That much he could understand – he'd always found chores rather dreadful. But, still…there was something just not _right._

"If you're so eager to help," he prodded, "Then why won't you tell me the exact location of the sugar bowl and sapphires?"

Again, Violet seemed terribly confused and he was starting to get an inkling of what happened. He would kill that woman for meddling. "I…," she paused, expression nearly pained. "If I tell you, you might go ahead and kill me."

"Yes," he argued, "But if you truthfully wanted to help me, then you would tell me where they are, wouldn't you? That way we could plan accordingly. So, Violet Baudelaire, if you want to help me out so much, _then tell me where they are on Mount Fraught."_

The statement was meant to be rhetorical, to prove a point. To his great surprise, and fury, Violet's eyes unfocused. "I don't know," she said, a tired tug in her voice. "I won't know until we're there. I have to use my ring to find them."

That was all the confirmation he needed. _"Stand up,"_ he said, voice growing louder. Violet again did as she was told, that trancelike look in her eyes. Olaf grabbed ahold of her chin and examined her. "What did you and Ursa talk about?" he prodded, watching the way her pupils quivered in the low light of the room.

Violet felt confused, things rushing around in her head, this way and that. What had they talked about? "I…I can't remember well," she admitted. "She had me carry up her bags and then…that's all, I think."

Count Olaf's expression frightened her. She wasn't sure if his wrath was directed toward her or not. Violet wasn't sure why it would be – she'd only been in there helping him with the maps – but it was a terrible look and made her shudder.

"You stand right here and don't move, do you understand me?" he said, fingers digging into her chin. Again, her eyes went glossy and she nodded. Olaf dropped his hand and stalked from the room.

Now, it wasn't polite to pry, but it was hard not to at the amount of screaming that followed. It only confused Violet more and she began to feel like she had when her fever first started, like her head was in some cloud. The entire conversation couldn't be heard, but Count Olaf was screaming accusations that Ursa was meddling in things that weren't her business. He also seemed to want to know what all Ursa knew, but Violet wasn't sure what she knew _about._ Ursa was screaming that he didn't want her, that he was obsessed with _that girl_ for months. A chill ran up Violet's spine as she looked to the wall and all the hard work he'd put in to capturing her. But the thought of Count Olaf wanting anything more than her money was ridiculous. This was Ursa's jealousy that Alec warned her about – nothing more.

No matter how much she wanted to move, to run downstairs to Alec, she was afraid to. Count Olaf had told her to stay still and she didn't want to anger him further. For some reason, she wasn't sure her legs would move, anyway. It felt as if her body was betraying her, holding her hostage on the spot.

Then there were the sounds of things being shattered, wine bottles probably. Count Olaf accused her of being sloppier than her sister, whatever that meant. Violet thought there was no one in the world as sloppy as Count Olaf. Ursa screamed, defending herself, saying he shouldn't keep things from her and she was only trying to help.

Through a series of thuds and yelps, it became obvious that the two were either physically fighting or…physically _making up._ Both were horrifying to Violet, who still found herself unable to move and now trying not to listen, should they be doing the latter.

All at once, though, the house grew silent and Violet knew they'd been fighting and only one was still standing. When the footsteps came creaking through the hall, even and unaffected, she wondered which face she would see. She wasn't sure how she felt when Count Olaf came through the door and gave her a tired look. _"Women,"_ he muttered, then collapsed in his chair.

Violet stood still and looked at him, unsure of what to say. The silence flooding from the bedroom was eerie and foreboding.

"Ursa blamed you for the death of her sister," he said simply, unsure where to start or even how much to tell her. His anger toward his ex-girlfriend had his stomach in a knot and he was trying to cool down to think straight.

"Her sister?" Violet said, a look of abhorrence crossing her features. Unless her sister had been in the fires…

"Dr. Georgina Orwell," he said, picking up a half-empty wine bottle and taking a swig. Violet sucked in a gasp of air. Before she could answer, Olaf continued, "Ursa was a hypnotist, as well. She hypnotized you."

Violet had a sudden feeling of violation. "She… _what?"_

"She hypnotized you," he repeated. Of course, Violet had heard him the first time, but thought maybe he'd misspoken.

"No, she didn't," she argued. "I only carried in her bags for her."

"Stand on one foot," Count Olaf suddenly said, watching her eyes fog up as she lifted one foot in the air. "See?" he added.

Violet's face was once again muddled with confusion as she put her foot down in a hurry. "But," she began to say, then paused. "But, I didn't realize what you were doing when you said that," she said, trying to make sense of it.

Count Olaf, while angry about Violet being hypnotized, found this amusing. "Fine," he said, standing with a triumphant smirk. "Hug me."

Violet's eyes went glossy and she moved across the room, wrapping her arms around the man and clinging to him. Olaf watched her eyes sharpen, then look rather horrified as she took a step back.

"That's…," she was sputtering, "I…"

"You wouldn't have done that of your own freewill," he said, turning toward the door. "Unfortunately, we have more pressing matters. We'll have to deal with you in the morning. Tonight, however, you're going to help me carry something. It's rather heavy and will need two people to get in the trunk of the car."

Count Olaf wasn't sure how he felt went Violet's eyes glossed over and she nodded, stepping behind him to help. One on hand, he was furious Ursa would meddle in places where she didn't belong. On the other hand, however, a compliant Violet Baudelaire took Olaf's mind to those dark places again.


	11. Chapter 11

Violet never slept a wink. She was far too disgusted with herself to allow even a moment of rest. Why would she help him? Why would she help him carry that lifeless woman down the stairs? Or put her in the trunk of the car?

They were gone for ages. Despite the burning questions in her head, the two drove in silence into the early morning hours and then she helped him again, carrying Ursa and dumping her in a raging river. The second time, due to the lengthy drive, rigor mortis had set in and the pair had a terrible time maneuvering her from the trunk. All Violet could think of on the drive back were the dark bruises around Ursa's throat.

She was staying in a murderer's home. Although this was a fact she already knew, and witnessed, it was a different feeling. She'd _helped_ him. Violet had never had to cover a crime up before. The fires she'd set left nothing to be covered up. Again she recalled Count Olaf's nasty tone – _murderess_ he'd called her. When she tried to say the word aloud, it stuck in her throat. Murderess, arsonist, and liar. That's what he'd said. Now she was an accomplice, as well.

The sun was creeping over the horizon when they arrived. Violet was sent to her room, though Count Olaf left the door unlocked for once. Perhaps assisting him had instilled some new level of trust.

Finally, near lunchtime, Violet gave up on the idea of sleep and began with the day's work. She hoped having something else to focus on would clear her mind, but no matter how hard she scrubbed the kitchen tile, her thoughts darted back to those bruises around the woman's neck.

Was Violet any better than Count Olaf? She'd killed five people. Two were innocent, he'd said, and another turning away from his life of crime. Had she been right in delivering her own sense of justice?

It was nearly time for supper before Count Olaf dragged himself from bed. All day she was itching for him to wake up, so she could speak with him about Ursa, the hypnotism, and the sapphires.

He went straight for the wine and retired to his wingback chair in the living room. Violet felt a little disheartened that he never mentioned the shining tiles in the kitchen or the clean grout, which she'd scrubbed and bleached all day. Alec, luckily, had offered to start on the bathroom and she'd been more than happy to oblige. She'd only seen him briefly at lunch and he was still up there, no doubt still scrubbing at the same spot he'd started on. The bathroom was easily the most horrendous room of the house.

Violet made her way to the living room, then sat on the couch opposite Count Olaf. He only stared at her, not offering a single word. He seemed to be appraising her, as if she were something new and he wasn't quite sure what to do with her.

"Stand up," he said and she did.

"Turn in a circle," he said and she did.

"Sit back down," he said and she did.

After that, he appraised her further. "I'm not sure how to undo it," he said finally. Violet felt a bit sour, knowing her best chance at being returned to normal was now floating face down in a river somewhere. "It seems you're just meant to obey orders. Are you sure you can't remember anything?"

Violet shook her head. "Not a single thing," she said. The thought of Count Olaf with that much power over her made a chill slip through her stomach.

He only hummed in reply, then took another drink and seemed to get lost in thought.

"Why would you kill her?" she asked. "And why would you make me help?"

Again Count Olaf appraised her before speaking and it made her feel violated. "Because-," he said, pausing to take another drink, "- she messed with my plans by messing with you. We have no idea what unforeseen problems will arise from this. And you were there and will do anything I tell you. I wasn't putting her in the car by myself. I couldn't have gotten her down the stairs."

His dismissive attitude rubbed Violet the wrong way. "That was a _human life,"_ she argued. "You can't just go killing people when they do things you don't like!"

Darkness cross his eyes. "And what you did was different?" he challenged. "You killed people who did things you didn't like."

"They were _bad_ people," she said, though it was more trying to convince herself. "I was trying to protect my family. I didn't know who set fire to my home, the only possibility was your troupe trying to get revenge. I had a _reason."_

Upstairs, they could hear Alec groan, then the sound of the bath taps being turned on and running water. "I remember being like you," Count Olaf said, looking toward the stairs through the doorway, still half-trained to the noises upstairs. "Questioning the morality of everything. The more you do it, the less of a reason you need."

"I'm _not_ like you," she spat.

" _Yet,"_ he countered.

The two once again fell into silence for a moment and it was Violet's turn to appraise him. After his wine glass was drained, she said softly, "It makes me sad."

"What does?" he said, incredulous tone to his voice. "That you're a murderess? You should have thought things through before you went starting fires."

Violet shook her head. "No," she said, "That you were once like me, worried about the morality of your actions. Some part of you was noble at one point – that's what makes me sad. Had it not been drained out of you, we might have never met. I could be visiting with my parents right now for dinner."

Count Olaf turned his shiny eyes on her, lips curling into a sneer. "I have only set fire to _one_ of your homes, Violet Baudelaire, and I pulled you from it."

This wasn't the first time he'd denied it, but it was still difficult to suspend your belief in something once you've believed it for several years.

" _I did not kill your parents,"_ he said at her unbelieving look. "But I congratulate those who did."

Violet's mouth popped open in surprise. "My parents were _noble_ and _loving,"_ she said. "They were _good."_

"Good and bad is a matter of perspective," he told her. "Perhaps if your parents lived, you would know enough about them to not think so highly of their memory."

"That is a _lie,"_ Violet said, voice shaking in fury. She recalled, as she had many times over the years, a certain conversation about her parents and Count Olaf's, centering on poison darts. "My parents would never harm someone without good reason."

"Remember what I said, Violet Baudelaire – the more you do it, the less of a reason you need," he said with a dark look.

What was he implying? That her parents killed many people? It was an impossible idea. Violet's memories of her parents were warm and happy. They went to museums, to beaches, to ice cream parlors. Every night their parents tucked them in after dinner.

"I don't believe you," she said, shaking her head. "You're lying. I don't believe you at all."

Count Olaf stood and offered her a shrug. "Just because you don't believe in a thing, doesn't mean it isn't so," he said, then left toward the kitchen.

Violet felt confused again, her head spinning. It was possible, though, wasn't it? She thought herself noble, but she'd set fires of her own. Had her parents done terrible things with noble intentions, as she had? It would make sense. If her parents _had_ orphaned Count Olaf, as he claimed years ago, then that was all the reason he needed to treat Violet and her siblings terribly. How would she treat the child of the person who killed her parents? It was difficult to say as she'd never known for certain who set the fire to the Baudelaire mansion. Violet liked to think she would treat the child fairly, but something twisted in her stomach at the thought which made her think otherwise.

Count Olaf reentered the room with two glasses of wine and offered her one. When she looked at it with suspicion, Count Olaf ordered, _"Drink it."_ Violet's eyes glazed over and she did as she was told. It was red and sweet, just as she liked it, and apparently was not poisoned as she didn't start choking or flailing about.

"I doubt you'll ever know the full story," he said, reclaiming his chair. "But just know that while you can only guess at who set the fires to your homes, I _know_ who killed my parents. I was there."

Violet, for some reason, felt a great sense of shame and buried her face in the cup, offering no reply. The atmosphere seemed too thick and she hurried to drain her glass, then stood to leave for the kitchen.

"You had a phone call," he said as she began to leave the room, as if in afterthought. "That Oswald fellow. We need to call him back."

Violet stalled, a nasty squirm going through her stomach. She wasn't sure she liked the way he said _we._ It made her feel as if he were making the two of them out to be partners, working together. Then she thought of the night before and stepped from the room without another word.

The empty kitchen seemed drastically less tense and it felt as if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders once she was out of eyesight from Count Olaf. The room had a far more pleasant smell and she remembered that she still needed to replace the P-trap, which she added to her mental list of things to do the following day. The tiles looked much better, white now instead of the grimy yellow. The grout was as clean as it could be, which wasn't perfect, but wasn't quite as dirty as before. Violet had done the best she could with the cabinets – they had been painted white ages ago and now were cracked and peeling. All that could be done was cleaning them, though she thought they would look best if striped of the paint and stained to match the lovely oak color on the inside. That, of course, was all dependent on how generous Count Olaf would be during their next trip.

It had all began as a way to get her mind off of things, but somewhere along the line it grew to be something more. Instead of simply wanting to do chores because she had to keep Count Olaf sated, she began aiming for a better place to live. Perhaps things would not be so miserable if they were surrounded by nicer things. And, even if he did kill her after they retrieved the sapphires, what would come of Alec? He would need a decent place to live, wouldn't he?

Violet still hadn't gotten to the bottom of Alec's story and wondered why he'd been kidnapped. It seemed that for every answer she received, another three or four questions popped up.

She washed her wine glass in the sink, dried it with one of their many new dishtowels, and returned it to the cupboard. Well, she supposed it was best to get the phone call over with. The moment away from Count Olaf had allowed her to clear her mind and that was all she needed. Though when she stepped back into the living room, her stomach gave a nervous jitter as he turned to look at her.

"Shall we call him?" she asked, looking away from his tense stare and down to her hands. "Then we can look over the maps of Mount Fraught again."

For whatever reason, Violet wanted to get the mess of the sapphires behind them. It was causing her a great deal of emotional distress and, though she knew it might end in her demise, she wanted to be done with it.

Count Olaf nodded and stood. Together the two of them climbed the frightening staircase and went to stand at the alcove which housed the phone. The noises from the bathroom were louder on the second floor and Count Olaf went to quiet Alec. When he returned, he rummaged in his pocket and pulled forth a small piece of cardstock on which a phone number was scrawled. Violet took it and flipped it over, seeing that he'd written the number on the back of one of his Al Funcoot Productions business cards.

The receiver seemed heavy when she picked it up. She _really_ didn't want to do this – it went against every fiber of her being to set the nice fellow up. Count Olaf seemed to sense her hesitation and plucked the card from her fingers, giving her a sharp look before dialing the number himself.

The phone rang twice before someone answered. Violet held the phone between her and Count Olaf as she had the first time and a shudder ran through her at the closeness of their bodies. That was the time she thought he meant to kiss her, before he struck her across the face.

"Langdon residence," said the man's voice and Violet swallowed thickly before answering.

"Hello," she greeted. "May I speak with Oswald, please?"

"This is he," the man answered. "May I ask who is calling?"

Violet smiled at his polite tone, a strange feeling fluttering in her stomach. Again, the guilt and memory of Quigley rushed in to sober the sensation. "This is Veronica," she said, feeling miserable at having to use a false name.

Panic leapt through Violet as Count Olaf rested his hand on the back of her neck. It felt as if his fingers were long enough to wrap around it entirely. Though he wasn't hurting her, Violet's thoughts fled to the bruises around Ursa's neck.

"Veronica," Oswald said and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm glad you called back. I was hoping you would like to join me for dinner again sometime."

As if on cue, her stomach let out a ferocious growl. Olaf gave her a great look of surprise and, despite the veiled threat that his hand posed, she had a terrible time trying not to laugh. Violet didn't answer Oswald immediately, instead covering her mouth to prevent a laugh from slipping out. Why, that to have been the most unladylike thing she'd ever done in front of Count Olaf and the shock on his face brought an unexpected jolt to her humor.

"Yes, of course," she said, trying to avoid Count Olaf's wide eyes. They would certainly make her laugh. "When were you thinking?"

"Well," he started, "I was hoping tonight. Of course, I understand as it's quite late in the day now."

Violet looked to Count Olaf, unsure what he wanted her to do. "I'll have to ask Count Olaf. Give me a moment please," she said, before covering the receiver with the palm of her hand.

There was a clock in the hall and Count Olaf looked over his shoulder at it, then took the phone from Violet's grasp. When his fingers slid against hers, it gave her a strange feeling in her stomach that she didn't understand. All of the sudden, she became extremely aware of his hand still resting on her neck and it was all she could think of.

"Yes, hello, this is Olaf," he spoke into the phone, pressing it up to his ear so Violet couldn't hear what Oswald was saying. It seemed pointless for the two to stand so close together now that they weren't crowded in over the phone, but when she tried to take a step away his finger's squeezed at her neck in just the slightest way. Violet wasn't even sure he meant to – when she gave him a questioning look, he was staring at the ceiling, nodding at something Oswald was telling him. He seemed completely unaware of her presence next to him and the small act was done unconsciously. Still, though, not daring to anger him, she stood in place.

"We were actually just about to head out to dinner ourselves," Count Olaf was saying, "And it is such a far drive. Perhaps another night would work best."

Violet could hear Oswald saying something and watched Count Olaf's brow crease just the slightest bit.

"Well, I suppose that would work," he said, looking down at Violet. "Yes, we could meet you there in an hour. Yes. Three. Veronica, myself, and…," Count Olaf paused, looking over his shoulder to the bathroom, "- Veronica's younger brother."

Oswald was saying something and Olaf was nodding along. "Yes," he said, "I've taken him as my ward. Perhaps she'll tell you about it when she's ready, but it was rather traumatic what happened. I wouldn't mention it unless she brings it up."

Clever, Violet found. That way she wouldn't have to remember a backstory other than Alec was her younger brother. Violet listened as they apparently worked out details and bid each other goodbye. When Count Olaf hung up the phone, he kept his hand on her neck and turned to yell over his shoulder. "Butler!" he called, "Get dressed! We're going out for the evening!"

The was the clatter of something – probably the scrub brush – being dropped against the porcelain tub and a ruckus as Alec ran from the bathroom, a smile plastered on his face. "You mean it?" he asked, eyes lit up. "We're going out?"

Violet felt sorry for him. Since her arrival, she hadn't seen him leave once, except working in the backyard. That was limited to two things – pulling weeds and tearing out what remained of the deck. Not exactly fun activities for a boy his age. Or any age, really.

"Yes," Count Olaf said, "We're meeting with my banker, who is interested in Violet. It's important that you call her Veronica, though."

Alec nodded, though – for some odd reason – his eyes grew just the slightest bit glum. "Alright," he said, "I can remember that."

Violet's brow furrowed and she sent her little friend a worried look. What would have taken away his enthusiasm?

"Get cleaned up," Count Olaf ordered him. "And wear something decent, we're going somewhere nice."

That was a rare treat, but still didn't seem to perk Alec up. He still smiled, then nodded and left, but Violet wondered what could be wrong.

"And you," Count Olaf said, "I want you to show me which dresses you have clean. I'm growing impatient with this Oswald boy and want him out of our hair."

_Our_ hair. Again, like they were partners. Violet was beginning to feel suffocated with his hand on her neck and quickly nodded, then led the way down the stairs. Count Olaf stayed only a stair behind her the entire time and it felt much like her childhood, trying to escape while he was riding on their coattails.

Violet led him to the little pantry and, after going in the small room and grabbing her things from one of the shelves, emerged with an armful of folded fabrics. Count Olaf stood back and watched as she unfolded each one and held it to her front. Lucia had gone overboard and brought far more than he intended, but each was lovelier than the next. Some soft part of him, long hidden away, didn't mind that he'd spent money on such things for her.

"The white one," he finally said, fingers resting on his chin in deep thought. "It will make him think of marriage."

Violet nearly choked on air and shot him an incredulous look. _"Marriage?"_ she asked, like he'd lost his mind. "It's only our second date!"

Count Olaf scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not going to let him _marry_ you," he said, now sounding as if _she_ were the one who had lost her mind. "It's…what do they call it?" He paused, thinking for a moment. "Subliminal messaging! He won't even realize it, but it'll make him take you more seriously and hopefully divulge his secrets easier."

The secrets he was talking about, of course, being any information she could find out about his fortune. Olaf wasn't sure about all that subliminal messaging nonsense. All he knew was that the white dress made _him_ think of Violet as a bride, so surely that Oswald boy would have a similar experience.

Violet nodded, though looked unsure. "Are you certain?" she asked. "I thought the blue might be more appropriate."

Count Olaf pursed his lips, an annoyed look clear in his eyes. The blue dress was more appropriate, sure, _if she were a child._ It was made more to her taste, with a high neck and baggy fit. "The aim is to woo him, Violet, not remind him of a ragdoll," he said with a scoff. "It's understandable that you know little of the art of attracting gentlemen, but trust me when I say, the white is far better than the blue."

He watched a smile twitch over the corners of her lips before she quickly reigned her face to a collected mask. "Well, you do seem well trained in the art of attracting gentlemen," she dared to say. Violet knew better than to say such a thing, of course, but couldn't quite help herself. Especially after he had the gall to say she knew little of the art herself. Violet knew, although being mostly uncomfortable about it, that men seemed to find her pretty. And while her only true experience was Quigley, surely she was capable enough without Count Olaf's coaching.

Count Olaf shot her a sharp look at her words, though didn't seem angry. In all honesty, he looked slightly taken aback as if he hadn't expected her to be so candid. "I only know what I prefer," he said.

"And you prefer the white?" she asked, eying it as if the concept were foreign to her. The poor girl had absolutely no idea when it came to the game of seduction, did she? Olaf had known many women and was quite skilled at that game.

"Next to that blue bag you call a dress?" he asked. "Without a doubt. It shows off more of your figure. I find it far more attractive on you."

That seemed to shut her up. A terrible flush crept over her cheeks and she took her things with a hurry and disappeared into the pantry while Count Olaf smirked in triumph. While he waited, he helped himself to another glass of wine. Every few seconds, his eyes darted to the door in anticipation. He'd only seen the dress on the girl when she was initially fitted, but it had been a sight, indeed. When he heard the doorknob give, he eyed the door in anticipation. Violet emerged, the image far better than in his memory, though she refused to look at him and glanced to her hands instead.

"Come here," he said and didn't miss the way her eyes glossed over before doing as he'd told her. It made a dark feeling flood his stomach, desire laced with hatred. Violet walked to him and stood within an arm length. "Turn around," he said and she obeyed. "You're trying to _woo_ him," he told her, fingers unlacing the messy job she'd done with the corseted bodice. Violet stiffened under his fingers, clinging to the front of her dress. Olaf laid his greedy eyes on her flesh, exposing inch by inch as he undid the laces. The bodice laced clear to the small of her back and he took a moment to admire the skin before he began lacing her back up. "The more of your figure you show, the better."

Violet was glad her back was turned to him because she knew her face was quite red. Though it was only her back, this was the least clothed Count Olaf had ever seen her and it seemed so indecent. Each time his fingers brushed the skin of her back, the redness crept further onto her cheeks. "You're making it too tight," she complained, feeing an ache in her ribs.

The words went unheard to Olaf. Violet was leaning away from him slightly, as the wearer of a corset often had to do when being laced up. It added leverage for a tighter lace. But Violet inches in front of him, her back turned, leaning away at the hips – it provided him with a mental image he couldn't quite shake. The fact that his hands were on her didn't help matters.

It had been a good while since he'd tied a woman back into her clothes, but his hands were still practiced. Once he was toward the top, though, the bottom laces began to loosen and he tugged in a sudden powerful motion, trying to save the laces from needing redone. Violet was not prepared and, subject to the whims of Count Olaf's tying, was pulled backward and slammed into his chest. There was a long moment that they stayed like that, pressed back to chest, until Violet took a quick step away and Olaf's hands lost the laces completely.

"Sorry," he muttered, shaking the feeling that had spread through him. Violet Baudelaire – pressed up against him, his hands on her corset laces. When he laced her the second time, she noticed the tugs were a bit more violent, but dared not say anything and expose her blushed face.

"Turn around," he said once he'd finished. Violet did as she was told and he looked over her with greed, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk. "Much better than the blue bag."

Violet's cheeks were a lovely shade of pink, only amplified by the fact that she wouldn't look at him. The white of the dress shone in contrast to the black lacework on the bodice and hems. It was a smart looking dress. Olaf couldn't help but find the most enjoyable part, however, the bodice. The corset cinched her waist in to an unbelievably tiny circumference and her bust looked the fullest he'd ever seen.

"Now," he said, nodding toward the kitchen chair. "Sit. Your hair is a mess."

It was worth noting that her posture was much better when corseted, as well. While he assumed it was due to her hobby of creating inventions, he'd noticed she had a slight slouch. Not anymore. Violet sat, back straight, and let him undo the ratty ponytail she'd done herself. Olaf ran his slender fingers through the black mass of her hair, smoothing it the best he could. Somewhere there was a hairbrush, but both found his hands in her hair far more enjoyable, though neither dared to admit it.

Again, as he had the day at the market, Olaf crafted her hair into a sleek braid and tied the black ribbon to secure it. "There," he said, "You undoubtedly look much better than if I'd have left you alone," he said. "Go attend to Alec, make sure he looks appropriate. I've got to get changed."

Violet's eyes went hazy and she nodded, then left him. Upstairs, she found Alec still in his filthy clothes, trying to get his cowlick to lay flat. She heard Count Olaf come up the stair behind her and head to his room. The thought of his fingers on her back and in her hair had her arms covered in chill bumps and she shook the feeling away.

"Wow!" Alec said, turning around. "You look beautiful! You should wear that dress more often!"

" _Told you!"_ Count Olaf suddenly yelled from the other room.

Violet pointedly ignored him, turning instead to Alec and giving him a smile. "Thank you, that's very kind," she said, walking to him and taking the old comb from his grasp. "The thing with a cowlick-," she continued, "- is that it makes the rules. Whatever it's doing, you've got to mimic."

Years with Klaus, who had not one - but _two_ \- cowlicks, had taught her this. With expert hands, Violet wet the comb and had Alec's hair looking decent in the blink of an eye.

"Come now," she said, "Downstairs. You need to get changed."

Alec nodded and crashed down the stairs in the fashion only children were capable of. Violet followed with a grin, clinging to the wall and taking a slower approach. The corset was so tight that it largely increased her bust in a way which she wasn't used to. It was quite a lengthy ordeal getting down the stairs when she couldn't see the next stair down without a great amount of twisting and leaning to the side.

Once at the bottom, though, it was smooth sailing. She'd instructed Alec on his outfit, much as Count Olaf had she. In the end, he chose the cleanest pair of trousers he had and the button-up shirt he informed her he'd been kidnapped in. Violet couldn't help but sigh at the smile on his face as he told her that little fact. It was ridiculous to think a child would enjoy being taken from their parents, but she supposed it beat feeling lonely or afraid.

"Are you ready?" said a voice behind them. Violet spun and felt a knot lodge in her throat. It seemed her fortune had done him well. Count Olaf stood, dressed to the nines. The suit was tailored well to his frame and new shoes shined from beneath his trousers. On his head was a smart looking hat, made of a rich fabric.

It worried her where her thoughts roamed. Violet felt, for the first time in her life, that Count Olaf looked very much the part of a stately count. And very much handsome.


	12. Chapter 12

Despite a chill in the early spring air, Violet felt the car ride was too stuffy. Unwelcome thoughts, such as a sudden recognition of a certain person’s handsomeness, had the tendency to make your surroundings seem warmer than they really were.

It certainly didn’t help matters that, as they had Alec with them and were going to meet Oswald, Violet was riding in the front seat within reaching distance of Count Olaf. Close quarters with the object of one’s unwelcome thoughts made the entire situation seem even stuffier.

“How much longer?” Alec said from the backseat. They’d been in the car nearly an hour and he’d been fidgeting for the majority of it.

 _“Soon,”_ Count Olaf answered promptly, beating Violet whose mouth had popped open to say something along the same lines. She closed her mouth and let her eyes drift out to the darkening landscape through her window.

It was clear with the growing occurrence of buildings that they were close to the city. Violet stretched out her legs in front of her and sighed.

Olaf’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. _“What?”_ he asked. His nerves were on edge from Alec’s incessant squirming about.

Violet kept her eyes trained outside the window. She was afraid she would feel even more suffocated if she looked over at him. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “My legs are just aching from sitting so long.”

Not to mention her ankle was still wrapped in gauze, though she wouldn’t dare voice that aloud.

“Well, both the complainers in this car need to be quiet and _stop moving around,”_ he said, the last bit aimed directly at Alec who was once again shifting his legs. The boy stopped at once and looked out the window, quiet.

Perhaps a quarter hour later, Count Olaf suddenly veered to the right and parallel parked with such quick precision that, as the saying goes, if one blinked they would miss it.

“Wow, that was fast!” Alec breathed from the back, having been tossed to the opposite side of the car when Count Olaf had violently navigated the car.

“Rob enough banks and you pick up some tricks,” Olaf muttered.

“What?” said Violet.

“Nothing.”

Before Violet could say anything else, Count Olaf was out of the car and popping open their doors. He held a hand out for Violet to take – all for show, no doubt – and Violet accepted it with a large lump in her throat. As soon as she was standing, she dropped her hand as if he’d burned her.

“So Violet is my sister, right?” Alec said, joining them on the sidewalk. Count Olaf shot him a nasty look and loudly shushed him.

“You mean _Veronica_ is your sister, Alec. And of course, why wouldn’t she be?”

It was all very overwhelming for Violet, who looked down the block and saw Oswald standing in front of the restaurant. He waved and she smiled in return.

“Shoulders back,” Count Olaf muttered, placing a hand at the small of her back and gently pushing her toward the restaurant. Just his touch was enough to straighten her posture.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said lowly from the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t care,” he replied and that was that. “Be attentive to him and don’t give him any reason to believe you’re anything but genuine.”

Violet’s eyes clouded over and she nodded. Alec watched with a scrunched up face. “What’s she look like that for?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Count Olaf replied.

Oswald was walking over to greet them and Alec knew enough about the situation not to open his mouth. Instead he tucked his hands into his pockets and tried to play the part of polite little brother.

Oswald first greeted Violet with a chaste kiss on the cheek. When he shook Count Olaf’s hand next, he noticed what a strong grip the count had, but did not comment on it. Only after greeting the adults did he offer his hand to Alec. The boy took it without a word and then the four were off into the restaurant.

There was not much to report on the actual dinner. The four sat at a round table, Violet between the two men and across from Alec. Every time Oswald’s knee touched Violet’s she felt a knot in her throat. The knot was even bigger every time her knee brushed Count Olaf’s.

The dinner went well, aside from Violet’s nerves. They had a wonderful meal of French onion soup, lobster, and lemon sorbet. Alec seemed to enjoy himself, though he remained rather quiet throughout. Violet wondered if he was afraid to call her the wrong name, though she found it odd that he seemed disheartened every time Oswald made a point to say something sweet to her.

For the most part, Count Olaf controlled the conversations of the evening. And what controlling the conversation meant was that he did absolutely everything in his power to steer the topic toward money or jewels.

Subtlety had never been a gift of Count Olaf’s, but Violet suffered through and wondered, like she had time and time again over the years, how no one else could see through his ridiculous schemes. The Baudelaire parents had always told their children how clever and intelligent they were. Violet thought perhaps this was something all parents told their children, but her teenage years led her to believe otherwise. It seemed she, Klaus, and Sunny possessed minds of genius capacity after all, considering they were the only people who ever seemed to see right through Count Olaf’s ridiculous schemes.

“So,” Oswald said once the sorbet was eaten and he’d insisted on only one bill, to which Count Olaf did not protest. “Are you planning on attending the Erza Relief Ball?”

Violet, as she had doe for most of the evening, remained quiet and allowed Count Olaf to do the talking. She found it odd, though, that Alec sat up a little straighter, his eyes darting to Oswald in shock. Count Olaf very obviously stomped on Alec’s foot. All of this escaped Oswald who was busy signing the receipt.

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with the ball,” Count Olaf said, throwing a warning look to Alec.

“Oh, it’s not an annual ball,” said Oswald, sitting the receipt aside and looking up at Count Olaf with a sad smile. “Fredo and Fonda Erza’s only child has gone missing. They’re hosting a relief ball to help offset the cost of searching. It is imperative they hire the very best detectives.”

The look on Alec’s face was quite strange. Violet had the oddest suspicion that perhaps Fredo and Fonda Erza’s missing child was called Alec. She glanced at Count Olaf, but could only see dollar signs nearly reflecting in his eyes.

“We have not heard of this ball,” he said almost too eagerly. “But I find missing children to be a cause dear to my heart and want nothing more than to help aid their search. Perhaps you could speak with them about extending us an invitation?”

All the while Alec sat wide-eyed. Violet couldn’t tell if he was excited or frightened.

“Of course,” Oswald said. “I’m sure they will be more than happy to, especially after hearing how fond I am of your maid.” With that he offered Violet a warm smile which she had the decency to duck her head and blush in response to.

“It’s all settled then!” Count Olaf said quickly, standing and knocking the table with his knee. Violet suspected he wanted out quickly before Oswald paid too much attention to Alec. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we do have quite a lengthy drive home.”

Count Olaf quite obviously nudged Alec, who stood with a suspicious look. One could argue it seemed almost guilty. Oswald was the next to stand, tugging at the hem of his dinner jacket so he looked appropriate and smiling at Violet.

“Veronica,” he said as she stood. “I do hope you’ll be at the ball.”

Violet peeked over at Count Olaf who nodded his head almost violently, his eyes wide and vaguely threatening. She looked back at Oswald with a polite smile. “As long as they will have us,” she said. It was difficult for her to look him in the eye for too long. All the treachery of being associated with Count Olaf was weighing on her and she knew any plot he had cooking in his mind would not be beneficial to many people aside himself.

“I’m sure they will,” Oswald said warmly, putting a hand on her upper arm and offering a slight squeeze. While Violet’s stomach twisted with nerves, Olaf’s tightened with jealousy. It was a good thing he was an actor, he thought, or else he might not have pulled off a believable smile.

Violet wondered why Count Olaf’s face was scrunched up like that, almost as if a bright light no one else could see was shining painfully in his eyes. It was quite a frightening expression. Oswald offered him a stiff smile in return and cleared his throat. “Shall we?” he said, motioning toward the door. Violet nodded and did everything possible to avoid looking at the odd expression Count Olaf was making.

The four of them made their way out to the now dark sidewalk. “The ball is Saturday after next,” Oswald said, lingering near their car as Alec climbed into the backseat and Count Olaf opened the front door for Violet.

Oswald was looking at her with longing. Both she and Olaf suspected it was due to the memory of their last parting kiss. Well, she certainly wouldn’t kiss him there in front of everyone, it was hardly proper.

“Well,” she said, shifting her feet in an awkward manner. “I suppose I will see you Saturday after next, then.”

Violet offered him a warm smile, but couldn’t shake the heavy feeling of Count Olaf being so near her. Without waiting for a reply, she ducked inside the car. Count Olaf, miserable as he usually was, shut the door as soon as her feet were tucked away and she was happy for it.

“I don’t like him,” Alec said quietly. “And I don’t think you should go to that ball.”

Violet didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure how to act at all, not with the strange knot in her stomach at seeing Count Olaf stood in front of her door, blocking her from Oswald’s view as the two made arrangements for the ball.

She thought of the night Oswald kissed her after their dinner, then of the time he called her on the phone and it seemed for a moment that Count Olaf meant to kiss her.

  
Violet found it distressing that the latter made her stomach tighten more.


End file.
